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Section       ©*  w  |  ( 


_ 


THE 


*A 


'"I 

SINGER'S  OWx 


MAY  22  1936 
kBOOK:     xvg 


c\ 


£5Ml*SelectcTi  Collection 


OP 


THE  MOST  POPULAR 


SENTIMENTAL,  PATRIOTIC,  NAVAL, 
AND  COMIC  SONGS. 


AS   SUNG   BY 

Messrs.  Sinclair,  Braham,  Phillips,  Horn,  Pearman,  Wood. 

B  rough,  and  Russell ;  Mesdames  Austin,  Knight,  Feron, 

Pearman.  Keely,  Watson,  and  Wood  ;  Misses 

Hughes,  Rock,  Povey,  Kelly,  Clara  Fisher, 

Turpin,  Horion,  and  Watson. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISH  KD  BY  JOHN  BALL, 

No.  48  North  Fourth  Street. 

185L 


A 


TO 

THE   FIRST   EDITION. 

In  presenting  this  collection  of  Songs  to  the 
public,  the  publishers  would  beg  leave  to  state, 
that  no  expense  or  time  has  been  spared  to 
render  it  every  way  superior  to  any  work  ot 
the  kind  that  has  hitherto  been  presented  to 
the  American  public.  No  songs  have  been 
admitted  that  do  not  claim  the  title  of  merit, 
either  in  composition  or  in  air.  The  whole 
have  been  arranged  by  a  gentleman  of  ac- 
knowledged musical  taste  and  abilities,  who 
has  been  at  very  considerable  trouble  in  col- 
lecting" songs  to  which  few  others  could  have 
had  access,  and  which  are  now  for  the  first 
time  submitted  to  general  perusal. 

In  this  collection  will  be  found  most  of  the 
popular  and  favourite  airs  of  Messrs.  Sinclair, 
Braham,  Phillips,  Hern  and  Pearman ;  Mos- 
dames  Austin,  Knight,  Feron  and  Pearman ; 
Misses  Hughes,  Rock,  Povey,  Paton,  Kelly 


IV  PREFACE. 


and  Clara  Fisher;  and  other  celebrated  vo- 
calists who  have  delighted  the  world  with 
their  "  'witching  melody." 

In  fine,  the  publishers  believe  their  work 
well  worthy  the  approbation  and  patronage  of 
the  public. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add,  that  not  a 
single  line  has  found  admission  into  this  book, 
which  can  directly  or  indirectly  offend  the 
nicest  modesty,  or  mantle  the  cheek  of  beauty 
with  the  faintest  blush. 


preface 

TO 
THE  THIRTIETH  EDITION. 


The  publishers  of  "The  Singer's  Own 
Book,"  since  the  issuing  of  the  first  edition, 
have  received  the  most  unequivocal  proofs  of 
the  estimation  in  which  the  work  is  held  by 
the  public.  Within  a  period  of  little  more 
than  two  years,  upwards  of  thirty  thousand 
copies  have  been  disposed  of,  and  the  demand 
appears  to  be  still  increasing ; — a  degree  of 
Dopularity,  which,  it  is  confidently  believed, 
lias  never  before  been  obtained  by  a  work  of 
this  kind,  within  the  United  States. 

The  mere  statement  of  the  above  fact  is  as 
strong  a  commendation  as  the  publishers  can 
bestow  upon  the  book.  Yet  they  are  anxious 
to  render  it  still  more  worthy  of  the  favour 
with  which  it  has  been  received.  They  have 
accordingly  again  availed  themselves  of  the 
services  of  a  gentleman  of  musical  taste  and 
discrimination,  who  has  selected  the  choicest 


VI  PREFACE. 


songs  from  the  latest  publications,  and  added 
them  to  the  former  extensive  list.  The  work 
fias  thus  received  very  important  additions, 
and  is  presented  to  the  public  with  a  decided 
conviction  that  its  claims  to  favourable  notice 
have  been  very  materially  increased. 


Philadelphia,  ) 
Jariy,  1835.    j 


THE 


AMERICAN 
SINGER'S   OWN  BOOK 


STAR-SPANGLED  BANNER. 

Oh!  say  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light, 
What  so  proudly  we  hail'd  at  the  twilight's  last 
gleaming, 
Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  thro'  the  peril- 
ous fight, 
O'er  the  ramparts  we  walch'd  were  so  gallantly 
streaming ; 
And  the  rocket's  red  glare,  the  bombs  bursting  in  air 
Gave  proof  through  the  night  that  our  flag  was 
still  there  ? 
Oh !  say,  does  that  star-spangled  banner  yet  wave 
O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the  brave I 

On  the  shore  dimly  seen  thro'  the  mists  of  the  deep, 

"Where  the  foe's  haughty  host  in  dread  silence 
reposes, 
What  is  that  which  the  breeze,  o'er  the  tow'ring  steep 

As  it  fitfully  blows,  half  conceals,  half  discloses : 
Now  it  catches  the  gleam  of  the  morning's  first  beam, 

In  full  glory  reflected  now  shines  on  the  stream : 
'Tis  the  star  spangled  banner!  oh,  long  may  it  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

And  where  is  that  band  who  so  vauntingly  swore, 
That  the  havoc  of  war  and  the  battlers  confusiou 

7 


8  THE  AMERICAN 


1 


A  home  and  a  country,  shall  leave  us  no  more  ? 

Their  blood  has  wash'd  out  their  foul  footsteps* 
pollution: 
No  refuge  could  save  the  hireling  and  slave, 

From  the  terror  of  flight,  or  the  gloom  of  the  grave, 
And  the  star  spangled  banner  in  triumph  doth  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the  brave. 

Oh!  thus  be  it  ever,  when  freemen  shall  stand 

Between  their  lov'd  home,  and  the  war's  desolation; 
Blest  with  vict'ry  and  peace,  may  the  heav'n  rescued 
land 

Praise  the  power  that  hath  made  and  preserved  us 
a  nation : 
Then  conquer  we  must,  when  our  cause  it  is  just, 

And  this  be  our  motto — "  In  God  is  our  trust." 
And  the  star  spangled  banner  in  triumph  shall  wave 

O'er  the  land  of  the  free,  and  the  home  of  the  brave ! 


HIGHLAND  MARY. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  of  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  woods  and  fair  your  flowers 

Your  waters  never  drumilie; 
There  simmer  first  unfaulds  her  robes, 

And  there  they  langest  tarry; 
For  there  I  took  the  last  farewell 

Of  my  dear  Highland  Mary. 

How  sweetly  bloomed  the  gay  green  birk, 

How  rich  the  hawthorn's  blossom  ; 
As  underneath  her  fragrant  shade 

I  clasp'd  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours  on  angel  wings 

Flew  o'er  me  and  my  dearie  ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life, 

Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  9 

Wi'  mony  a  vow,  and  lock'd  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender; 
And  pledging  afl  to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder. 
But  O !  fell  death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early: 
Now  green's  the  sod,  and  eauld's  the  clay, 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary. 

O  pale,  pale  now  those  rosy  lips, 

I  oft  hae  kiss'd  sae  fondly ; 
And  clos'd  for  ay  the  sparkling  glance 

That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly! 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 

That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly; 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 

Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 


HASSAN  THE  BRAVE. 

Behold  me,  sung  Hassan,  the  fearless  and  free, 
On  the  steed  which  obeys  not  a  rider  but  me ; 
That  points,  like  the  quills  of  the  eagle,  his  ears, 
And  whose  bound  in  the  desert  is  light  as  the  deer's 
Behold  me,  with  sabre,  new  sharpen'd  and  bright, 
With  pistols  new  flinted,  and  burnish'd  for  fight; 
My  cap  with  fresh  scarlet  so  gaily  bedone, 
And  my  baldrick  of  silver,  that  gleams  in  the  sun. 

When  my  true  love  espies  me,  the  heart  m  her  breast 
Shall  beat  quick  as  the  pigeon's,  when  robb'd  of  hex 

nest  ; 
She  will  hush  the  hoarse  watch-dog,  and  hie  to  the 

grove, 
That  the  eye  of  her  kindred  espy  not  her  love : 
Yet  let  them  descry  me,  their  wrath  I  defy, 
And  why  should  she  tremble,  when  Hassan  is  nigh? 
Like  the  hawk  from  the  covey,  selecting  his  prey, 
From  the  midst  of  her  tribe  would  I  bear  her  awav. 


10  THE  AMERICAN 

I  would  mount  her  behind  me,  sung  Hassan  the  free, 
On  the  steed  which  obeys  not  a  rider  but  me ; 
That  points,  like  the  quills  of  the  eagle,  his  ears, 
And  whose  bound  in  the  desert  is  light  as  the  deer's. 
For  I  come  with  sabre,  new  sharpen'd  and  bright, 
With  pistols  new  flinted,  and  burnish'd  for  fight; 
My  cap  with  fresh  scarlet  so  gaily  bedone, 
And  my  baldrick  of  silver,  that  gleams  in  the  sun 

COMINr  THROUGH  THE  RYE. 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Comin'  through  the  rye, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 

Need  a  body  cry  ? 
Ilka  body  has  a  body, 

Ne'er  a  ane  hae  I  ; 
But  a'  the  lads  they  lo'e  me, 

And  what  the  waur  am  I  ? 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Comin'  frae  the  well, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 

Need  a  body  tell? 

Ilka  body  has  a  body,  &c 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body 

Comin'  frae  the  town, 
Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body, 

Need  a  body  frown  ? 
Ilka  Jenny  has  her  Jockey,  &c. 


MAID  OF  LLANWELLYN. 

i've  no  sheep  on  the  mountain,  nor  boat  on  the  lake 
Nor  coin  in  my  coffer,  to  keep  me  awake; 
JNor  corn  in  my  garner,  nor  fruit  on  the  tree, 
Yet  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly  on  me 

Rich  Owen  will  tell  you,  with  eyes  fall  of  scorn, 
Thread-bare  is  my  coat,  and  my  hosen  are  torn ; 


SINGERS    OWN    BOOK.  11 

Scoff  on,  my  rich  Owen,  for  faint  is  thy  glee, 
While  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly  on 
me. 

The  farmer  rides  proudly  to  market  and  fair, 

And  the  clerk  at  the  tavern  still  claims  the  great 

chair  ; 
But  of  all  our  proud  fellows  the  proudest  I'll  be, 
While  the  maid  of  Llanwellyn  smiles  sweetly  on 

me. 

WOODMAN,  SPARE  THAT  TREE. 
Sung  by  Mr.  Rvsscll. 

Woodman,  spare  that  tree  ! 

Touch  not  a  single  bough 
In  youth  it  shelter'd  me, 

And  I'll  protect  it  now  ; 
Twas  my  forefather's  hand 

That  placed  it  near  his  cot ; 
There,  woodman,  let  it  stand, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not. 

That  old  familiar  tree, 

Whose  glory  and  renown 
Are  spread  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  wouldst  thou  hack  it  down  ? 
Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke  ! 

Cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties  ; 
Oh  !  spare  that  aged  oak 

Now  towering  to  the  skies  ! 

When  but  an  idle  boy, 

I  sought  its  grateful  shade ; 
In  all  their  gushing  joy 

Here,  too,  my  sisters  play'd. 
My  mother  kiss'd  me  here ; 

My  father  press 'd  my  hand — 
Forgive  this  foolish  tear, 

But  let  that  old  oak  stand  ' 


12  THE    AMERICAN 

My  heartstrings  round  thee  cling, 

Close  as  thy  bark,  old  friend  ! 
Here  shall  the  wild  bird  sing, 

And  still  thy  branches  bend. 
Old  tree  !  the  storms  still  brave  ! 

And,  woodman,  leave  the  spot ; 
While  I've  a  hand  to  save, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 
As  sung  by  Mr.  Brough. 

The  light  of  other  days  is  faded, 

And  all  their  glories  past, 
For  grief  with  heavy  wing  hath  shaded 

The  hopes  too  bright  to  last ; 
The  world,  which  morning's  mantle  clouded, 

Shines  forth  with  purer  raj's  ! 
But  the  heart  ne'er  feels,  in  sorrow  shrouded 

The  light  of  other  days. 

The  leaf  which  autumn  tempests  wither^ 

The  birds  which  then  take  wing 
When  winter's  winds  are  past,  come  hither 

To  welcome  back  the  spring  : 
The  very  ivy  on  the  ruin, 

In  gloom  full  life  displays  ; 
But  the  heart  alone  sees  no  renewing, 

The  light  of  other  days. 

LIGHT  MAY  THE  BOAT  ROW. 

Sung  by  Mrs.  and  Miss  Watson, 

Oh  !  calmly  may  the  waves  flow, 
And  lightly  may  the  boat  row, 
And  safe  and  swift  the  boat  go 
That  my  lad's  in  ; 


singer's  own  book.  13 

He  plays  the  oar  so  tightly, 
Moves  in  the  dance  so  sprightly, 
So  gracefully  and  lightly, 
Oh  !  there  are  none  like  him. 

Light  may  the  boat  row,  the  boat  row,  the  boat 
row, 

Light  may  the  boat  row,  that  my  lad's  in. 

I    know    he    is    true-hearted,  true-hearted,   true- 
hearted  ; 
He  promised  when  we  parted  to  come  to  me  again. 
Light  may  the  boat  row,  &c. 

He  wears  a  blue  jacket,  blue  jacket,  blue  jacket, 
He  wears  a  blue  jacket,  and  a  dimple  in  his  chin. 
Light  may  the  boat  row,  &c. 

FAREWELL  TO  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

As  sung  by  Mr.  Brough. 

Farewell !  to  the  mountain  and  sun-lighted  vale, 
The  moss-border'd   streamlet   and  balm-breathing 

gale  ; 
All  so   bright,  all   so   fair,   here   a   seraph   might 

dwell, 
'Tis  too  lovely  for  me :  farewell  !  oh  !  farewell ! 

Farewell  !  for  more  sweetly  each  sound  meets 
mine  ear ; 

The  wild  bee  and  butterfly  they  may  rest  here  ; 

Hark  their  hum,  how  it  blends  with  the  deep  con- 
vent's bell, 

Such  strains  are  of  heaven :  farewell !  oh !  fare- 
well ! 

Farewell !  to  the  mountain  and  sun-lighted  vale, 
The  moss-border'd  streamlet  and  balm-breathing 

gale  ; 
All   so   bright,  all   so  fair,  here   a   seraph  might 

dwell, 
Tis  too  lovely  for  me  :  farewell !  oh !  farewell! 


14  THE    AMERICAN 

I  LOVE  THIS  WORLD  RIGHT  WELL. 
Sung  by  Mr.  Howard. 

I  love  this  world  right  well,  I  trow, 

I  love  of  its  charms  to  tell, 
For  it  is  to  me,  as  it  should  be, 

A  world  that  I  love  full  well ; 
For  when  I  was  young  I  lisp'd  with  my  tongue 

The  fervent  prayer  of  a  child, 
And  with  dreams  of  bliss  in  a  world  like  this, 

I  slept  as  my  mother  smiled. 
Oh  !  I  love  this  world  right  well,  I  trow, 

I  love  of  its  charms  to  tell, 
For  it  is  to  me,  as  it  should  be, 
A  world  that  I  love  full  well. 

When  manhood  came  my  joys  were  the  same. 

For  I  felt  as  a  man  should  feel ; 
My  path  it  was  bright,  my  heart  was  light, 

And  I  laugh 'd  with  a  merry  peal ; 
And  when  graver  cares  came  with  my  years, 

And  my  children  were  around  me, 
A  constant  wife  whom  I  loved  as  life, 

To  the  world — the  world  still  bound  me. 

Oh  !  I  love  this  world,  &c. 

POOR  LOUISE. 

Sung  by  Mrs.  Keely. 

Of  all  the  mountain  maidens  fair 
With  young  Louise  none  could  compare, 
Her  full  blue  eyes,  her  shining  hair, 
Her  full  blue  eyes,  her  shining  hair, 
Made  captive  every  heart ;  sweet  Louise. 
Made  captive  every  heart ;  sweet  Louise. 

Her  voice  was  ever  kind  and  low, 
When  sorrow  told  its  tale  of  woe, 
She'd  hope,  and  tears,  and  help  bestow, 
Ere  she  could  say  depart;  kind  Louise. 


singer's  own  book.  15 


As  she  no  guile,  no  art  e'er  knew, 

She  thought  that  all  the  world  was  true  ; 

She  trusted,  and  she  lived  to  rue 

She  e'er  put  trust  in  man  ;  weak  Louise. 

Her  lover  left  her — madness  came, 
And  clothed  her  gentle  thought  in  flame ; 
Her  reason  could  not  bear  the  shame, 
She  sunk  beneath  the  blow ;  lost  Louise. 

SOME   LOVE    TO    ROAM    O'ER    THE    DARK 

SEA  FOAM. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Russell. 

Some  love  to  roam  o'er  the  dark  sea  foam, 

Where  the  shrill  wind  whistles  fiee ; 
But  a  chosen  band  in  a  mountain  land, 

And  a  life  in  the  wood  for  me, 

Where  the  shrill  wind  whistles  free  ; 
But  a  chosen  band  in  a  mountain  land, 

And  a  life  in  a  woods  for  me. 
When  morning  beams  o'er  the  mountain  streams, 

Oh  !  merrily  forth  we  go  ; 
To  follow  the  stag  to  his  slippery  crag, 

And  to  chase  the  bounding  roe  ; 
To  follow  the  stag  to  his  slippery  crag, 

And  to  chase  the  bounding  roe. 

Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !— ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! 

Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  ho  !   ho  !  ho  !  ho  ! 

The  deer  we  mark  through  the  forest  dark, 

And  the  prowling  wolf  we  track  ; 
And  for  right  good  cheer  in  the  wild  woods  here, 

Oh  !  why  should  a  hunter  lack  ? 
For  with  steady  aim  at  the  bounding  game, 

And  hearts  that  fear  no  foe  ; 
To  the  darksome  glade  in  the  forest  shade, 

Oh  !  merrily  forth  we  go. 

Ho  !  ho ! 
Some  love  to  roam,  &c. 


16  THE    AMERICAN 


THE  BRAVE  OLD  OAK. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Russell. 

A  song  of  the  oak,  the  brave  old  oak, 

Who  hath  ruled  in  the  greenwood  long  ; 
Here's  health  and  renown  to  his  broad  green  crown, 

And  his  fifty  arms  so  strong. 
There  is  fear  in  his  frown  when  the  sun  goes  down, 

And  the  fire  in  the  west  fades  out ; 
And  he  showeth  his  might  on  a  wild  midnight, 

When  storms  through  his  branches  shout. 
Then  sing  to  the  oak,  the  brave  old  oak, 

Who  hath  ruled  in  this  land  so  long ; 
And  still  flourish  he  a  hale  green  tree, 

When  a  hundred  }rears  are  gone. 

He  saw  the  times  when  the  Christmas  chimes 

Were  a  merry  sound  to  hear ; 
And  the  squire's  wide  hall  and  the  cottage  smal' 

Were  full  of  American  cheer  ; 
And  all  the  day,  to  the  rebeck  gay, 

They  frolick'd  with  lovesome  swains ; 
They  are  gone,  they  are  dead,  in  the  churchyard 
laid, 

But  the  tree  he  still  remains. 
Then  sing  to  the  oak,  &c. 

THE  BANKS  OF  THE  BLUE  MOSELLE. 
Sung  by  Miss  Horton. 

When  the  glow-worm  gilds  the  elfin  flow'r 
That  clings  round  the  ruin'd  shrine, 

Where  first  we  met,  where  first  we  loved, 
And  I  confess'd  me  thine  ; 

'Tis  there  I'll  fly  to  meet  thee  still, 
At  sound  of  vesper  bell. 

In  the  starry  light  of  a  summer  night, 

In  the  starry  light  of  a  summer  night, 


singer's  own  book.  17 

On  the  banks  of  the  blue  Moselle, 
On  the  banks  of  the  blue  Moselle, 
In  the  starry  light  of  a  summer  night, 
On  the  banks  of  the  blue  Moselle. 

If  the  cares  of  life  should  shade  thy  brow, 

Yes,  yes,  in  our  native  bowers  ; 
My  lute  and  heart  might  best  accord, 

To  tell  of  happier  hours  ; 
Yes,  there  I'll  soothe  thy  griefs  to  rest, 

Each  sigh  of  sorrow  quell. 
In  the  starry  night,  &c. 

FALSE  ONE,  I  LOVE  THEE  STILL. 

FROM  THE  OPERA  "LA  SONNAMBULA." 

Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. 

Still  so  gently  o'er  me  stealing, 
Mem'ry  will  bring  back  the  feeling, 
Spite  of  all  my  grief,  revealing 

That  I  love  thee,  dearly  love  thee  still ; 
Though  some  other  swain  may  charm  thee, 
Ah  !  no  other  e'er  can  warm  me, 
Yet,  never  fear,  I  will  not  harm  thee — 

No,  thou  false  one,  no,  I  fondly  love  thee  still 

ANGELS'  WHISPER. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. 

A  baby  was  sleeping, 

Its  mother  was  weeping, 
For  her  husband  was  far  on  the  wide  raging  sea, 

And  the  tempest  was  swelling 

'Round  the  fisherman's  dwelling, 
And  she  cried,  "  Dermont,  darling,  oh  !  come  back 
to  me  !" 

Her  beads  while  she  number'd, 
The  baby  still  slumber'd 
And  smiled  in  her  face  as  she  bended  her  knee : 
B 


19  THE    AMERICAN 

"  Oh  !  bless'd  be  that  warning, 
My  child,  thy  sleep  adorning, 
For  I  know  that  the  angels  are  whispering  to  thee. 

"  And  while  they  are  keeping 

Bright  watch  o'er  thy  sleeping, 
Oh,  pray  to  them  softly,  my  baby,  with  me  ; 

And  say  thou  wouldst  rather 

They'd  watch  o'er  thy  father, 
For  I  know  that  the  angels  are  whispering,  with 
thee." 

The  dawn  of  the  morning 
Saw  Dermont  returning, 
And  the  wife  wept  with  joy  her  babe's  father  t& 
see  ; 
And  closely  caressing, 
Her  child  with  a  blessing 
Said,  "  I  knew  that  the  angels  were  whispering 
with  thee." 


DARK  EYED  ONE. 

FROM  THE  OPERA  OF  THE  MAGIC  FLUTE. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Horn. 

Dark  eyed  one,  dark  eyed  one  !   come  hither  to  me, 
I'll  sing  thee  a  song  'neath  the  tamarind  tree: 
The  queen  of  the  garden,  the  ruby  lipp'd  rose, 
On  her  emerald  throne  by  the  rivulet  grows— 
Come  hither,  my  rosebud,  and  shame   the  proud 

flower, 
Outblush  the  gay  queen  in  her  own  gaudy  bower : 
I'll  sing  thee  a  song,  and  the  burden  shall  be, 
Dark  eyed  one,  dark  eyed  one,  I  languish  for  thee. 

So  laden  with  sweets  is  each  sigh  of  the  gale, 
I'm  sure  my  beloved  is  crossing  the  vale : 
The  tulip  is  quaffing  his  cup  full  of  wine, 
The  turtle  is  murmuring  vows  to  the  pine — 


singer's  own  book.  19 

.  ■  * 

Oh,  waste  not  the  moments  so  precious  to  love, 
Come,  drink  with  the  tulip  and  court  with  the  dove : 
I'll  sing  thee  a  song,  and  the  burden  shall  be, 
Dark  eyed  one,  dark  eyed  one,  I  languish  for  thee. 

THE  BLOOM  IS  ON  THE  RYE. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Howard. 

My  pretty  Jane  !  my  pretty  Jane  ! — 

Ah  !  never,  never  look  so  shy  ; 
But  meet  me,  meet  me  in  the  evening, 

While  the  bloom  is  on  the  rye. 
Spring  is  waning  fast,  my  love — 

The  corn  is  in  the  ear ; 
The  summer  nights  are  coming,  love, 

The  moon  shines  bright  and  clear  : 
Then,  pretty  Jane  !  my  dearest  Jane  !  &c. 

But  name  the  day — the  wedding  day — 

And  I  will  buy  the  ring ; 
The  lads  and  maids  in  favours  white, 

And  village  bells  shall  ring. 
Spring  is  waning  fast,  my  love,  &c.  &c. 

THE  HIGHLAND  MINSTREL  BOY. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. 

I  hae  wander'd  mony  a  night  in  June, 

Along  the  banks  of  Clyde, 
Beneath  a  bright  and  bonnie  moon, 

Wi'  Mary  at  my  side  : 
As  summer  was  she  to  mine  e'e, 

And  to  my  heart  a  joy, 
And  well  she  loo'd  to  roam  wi'  me, 

Her  Highland  minstrel  boy. 
I  hae  wander'd,  &c. 

Oh  !  her  presence  could  on  ev'ry  star 

New  brilliancy  confer, 
And  I  thought  the  flowers  were  sweeter  far 

When  they  were  seen  with  her. 


20  THE    AMERICAN 

Her  brow  was  calm  as  sleeping  sea, 

Her  glance  was  full  o' joy, 
And,  oh  !  her  heart  was  true  to  me, 

Her  Highland  minstrel  boy. 
Oh !  her  presence,  &c. 

I  hae  play'd  to  ladies  fair  and  gay, 

In  many  a  southron  hall, 
But  there  is  one,  far — far  away, 

A  world  above  them  all. 
And  now,  though  weary  years  have  fled, 

I  think  wi'  mournful  joy, 
Upon  the  day  when  Mary  wed 

Her  Highland  minstrel  boy. 
I  hae  play'd  to  ladies,  &c. 

!  WHEN  THE  TRUMP  OF  FAME. 

A    FAVOURITE    MARTIAL    SONG    IN    THE     OPERA    OP 
THE  MAID  OF  JUDAH. 

Swig  by  Mr.  Wood. 

When  the  trump  of  fame, 

Loud  sounding  freedom's  call, 
Bids  in  freedom's  name, 

To  fight  or  bravely  fall — 
Bold  the  hero  goes, 

Where  maddening  war  shouts  rise, 
And,  midst  countless  foes, 

He  flies,  he  flies. 
Bright  the  sword  now  gleams, 

And  banners  wave  on  high — 
Round  the  life-blood  streams, 

'Mid  cries  of  "  Yield,  or  die  !" 
'Till  victory  uprears 

Her  pennon,  red  with  gore, 
And  shouts,  to  patriot  ears, 

That  slavery  reigns  no  more. 
When  the  voice  of  Love 

To  rescue  calls  the  brave, 


singer's  own  book.  21 


Who  so  base  would  prove, 

He  would  not  fly  to  save  ? 
Love,  whose  torch  in  hall 

And  bower  doth  brightly  flame, 
Champions  finds  in  all 

Who  manhood  claim. 
Then  shame  befall  the  knight, 

Who,  false  to  honour's  laws, 
Shuns  the  listed  fight 

In  injured  woman's  cause : 
May  he  from  the  foe, 

In  battle  recreant  fly, 
And  by  some  traitor  blow, 

Unpitied,  fall  and  die  ! 

AH!  DO  NOT  FORGET,  LOVE. 
Sung  by  Mrs.  Watson. 

Ah,  do  not  forget,  love,  the  hour  when  we  parted, 

The  valley  where  we  met ; 
Where  oft  we  have  danced  with  the  young  and  gay- 
hearted, 

To  the  merry  castanet. 
'Twas  there  we  first  plighted  affection  so  true, 

'Twas  there  we  last  parted  in  sorrow, 
And  shed  the  fond  tear,  as  we  sighed  out,  adieu  ' 

In  hopes  of  a  happier  to-morrow. 
Ah !  do  not  forget,  love,  the  hour  when  we  parted. 

The  valley  where  we  met ; 
Where  oft  we  have  danced  with  the  gay  and  light- 
hearted, 

To  the  merry  castanet,  the  merry  castanet 

The  merry  castanet,  the  merry  castanet. 

Oh !  why  didst  thou  leave  me,  so  sadly  to  grieve 
me, 

And  break  this  beating  heart ; 
Oh !  could  I  behold  thee  once  more  to  enfold  thee, 

Oh,  never  again  would  we  part. 


22  THE    AMERICAN 

The  roses  may  wither,  that  deck  the  gay  bowers ; 

The  blossoms  may  fall  from  the  tree  ; 
But  never,  in  memory,  shall  fade  those  sweet  hours, 

So  sacred  to  friendship  and  thee, 
Where  hope  sheds  its  ray,  love,  and  still  seems  to 
say,  love, 

We've  moments  of  happiness  }ret, 
When  again  I  shall  meet  thee,  and  bring,  love,  to 
greet  thee, 

The  merry  castanet,  &c. 

THE  MERMAID'S  CAVE. 
Sung  by  Miss  Hughes. 

Come,  mariner,  down  in  the  deep  with  me, 

And  hide  thee  under  the  wave; 
For  I  have  a  bed  of  coral  for  thee, 
And  quiet  and  sound  shall  thy  slumbers  be, 

In  a  cell  of  the  mermaid's  cave. 
Come,  mariner,  &c. 

And  she  who  is  waiting  with  cheek  so  pale, 

At  the  tempest  and  ocean's  roar, 
And  weeps  when  she  hears  the  menacing  gale, 
Or  sighs  to  behold  her  mariner's  sail 

Come  whitening  up  the  shore. 
Come,  mariner,  &c. 

She  has  not  long  to  linger  for  thee, 

Her  sorrows  will  soon  be  o'er, 
For  the  cord  shall  be  broken,  the  prisoners  free 
Her  eye  shall  close,  and  her  dreams  will  be 

So  sweet,  she  will  wake  no  more. 
Come,  mariner,  &c. 

WTHEN    WAKES    THE    SUN    AT    EARLY 

DAWN. 

Sung  by  Miss  Watson. 

When  wakes  the  sun,  at  early  dawn, 
Then  from  his  distant  cottage  home, 


singer's  own  book.  23 

I  list  to  hear  my  lover's  horn, 

Which  seems  to  say,  I  come  ! 
And  as,  from  Alp  to  Alp,  the  sound, 

B}r  echo  wafted,  steals  to  cheer; 
Nearer  and  nearer  each  rebound, 
I  bless  and  joy  to  hear. 
When  wakes  the  sun,  &c. 
lyo  !  Iyoi 

When  sunset  tints  our  glaciers  bright 

With  rosy  hues,  then  forth  I  rove, 
And  whisper,  in  the  waning  light, 

The  name  of  names  I  love. 
And  still,  as  to  the  vales  around, 

Farther  and  farther,  less  and  less, 
Echo  to  echo  wafts  the  sound, 

Then  echo's  aid  I  bless. 
When  wakes  the  sun,  &c. 
Iyo  !  Iyo  ! 

ALL  BY  THE  SHADY  GREENWOOD  TREE. 

FROM  THE  OrERA  OF  THE  MAID  OF  JUDAH. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. 

All  by  the  shady  greenwood  tree, 

The  merry,  merry  archers  roam  ; 
Jovial  and  bold,  and  ever  free, 

They  tread  their  woodland  home  ; 
Roving  beneath  the  moon's  soft  light, 

Or  in  the  thick  embow'ring  shade, 
List'ning  the  tale,  with  dear  delight, 

Of  a  waudering  sylvan  maid. 
All  by  the  shady,  &c. 

LIST  THEE,  DEAR  LADY. 

FROM  THE  GRAND  OPERA  OF  FRA  DIAVOLO. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Wood. 

List  thee,  dear  lady,  oh  !   listen,  I  pray, 
In  life's  early  season,  love  is  the  lay: 


24  THE    AMERICAN 

A  young  knight  there  came  to  his  lady  love's  bower, 
He  touched  his  guitar,  he  sang  of  love's  power ; 
She  was  another's — oh  !  there  was  the  sting — 
Start  not,  fair  lady — another  I  sing. 

Unknown  wras  the  knight,  for  no  one  could  say 
From  whence  he  had  come,  or  whither  his  way  ; 
Disguise  he  assum'd,  he  hover'd  around, 
She  was  the  charm  that  his  bosom  hod  bound  ; 
E'en  in  her  chamber  his  love  notes  they  ring- 
Start  not,  fair  lady — another  I  sing. 

Past  vows  are  forgotten — 'tis  seen  in  her  eyes, 
*Tis  told  in  her  blush,  'tis  breath'd  in  her  sighs ; 
The  young  knight  is  urgent,  love  is  the  tale — 
Love  over  reason  too  oft  will  prevail : 
Her  thoughts  are  all  his — to  a  brigand  they  cling— 
Start  not,  fair  lady — another  I  sing. 

SAVOURNEEN  DEELISH. 
Sung  by  Miss  Hughes. 

Oh,  the  moment  was  sad  when  my  love  and  I  parted 

Savourneen  deelish  eileen  ogg  ! 
As  I  kiss'd  off  her  tears  I  was  nigh  broken-hearted, 

Savourneen  deelish  eileen  ogg  ! 
Wan  was  her  cheek,  which  hung  on  my  shoulder, 
Damp  was  her  hand,  no  marble  was  colder, 
I  felt  in  my  heart  I  ne'er  more  should  behold  her, 

Savourneen  deelish  eileen  ogg  ! 

Long  I  fought  for  my  country,  far,  far  from  my  true 
love, 

Savourneen  deelish  eileen  ogg. 
All  my  pay  and  my  booty  I  hoarded  for  you,  love, 

Savourneen  deelish  eileen  ogg  ! 
Peace  was  proclaim'd — escaped  from  the  slaughter, 
Landed  at  home,  my  s>weet  girl !  I  sought  her, 
But  sorrow,  alas !  to  the  cold  grave  had  brought  herr 

Savourneen  deelish  eileen  ogg  i 


singer's  own  book.  25 

THE  OLD  ENGLISH  GENTLEMAN. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Russell. 

I'll  sing  you  a  good  old  song,  made  by  a  good  old 

pate  [estate  ; 

Of  a  fine  old  English  gentleman,  who  had  an  old 
And  who  kept  up  his  old  mansion  at  a  bountiful  old 

rate, 
With  a  good  old  porter  to  relieve  the  old  poor  at 

his  gate  ! 
Like  a  fine  old  English  gentleman,  all  of  the  olden 

time. 

His  hall  so  old  was  hung  around  with  pikes,  and 

guns,  and  bows, 
And  swords,  and  good  old  bucklers,  which  had  stood 

against  old  foes, 
And   'twas   there  "  his  worship"  sat  in  state,  in 

doublet  and  trunk  hose, 
And  quaiPd  his  cup  of  good  old  sack  to  warm  his 

good  old  nose  !  Like  a  fine  old,  &c. 

When  winter  old  brought  frost  and  cold,  he  open'd 

house  to  all, 
And  though  threescore  and  ten  his  3rears,  he  featly 

led  the  ball : 
Nor  was  the  houseless  wanderer  e'er  driven  from 

his  hall, 
For  while  he  feasted  all  the  great,  he  ne'er  forgot 

the  small.  Like  a  fine  old,  &c. 

But  time,  though   sweet,  is   strong  in  flight,  and 
years  rollYl  swiftly  by,  [must  die  ! 

And  autumn's  falling  leaf  prochim'd  the  old  man  he 

He  laid  him  down  right  tranquilly,  gave  up  life's 
latest  si°;h, 

And  mournful  friends  stood  round  his  couch,  and 
tears  bedimm'd  each  eye, 

For  the  fine  old,  &c, 


THE    AMERICAN 


SO  WARMLY  WE  MET. 

So  warmly  we  met,  and  so  fondly  we  parted, 

That  which  was  the  sweeter  even  I  could  not  toll, 
That  first  look  of  welcome  her  sunny  eye  darted, 

Or  that  tear  of  passion  which  bless'd  our  farewell ; 
To  meet  was  m  heaven — and  to  part  thus,  another ; 

Our  joy  ana  our  sorrow  seem'd  rivals  in  bliss; 
Oh,  Cupid's  two  eyes  are  not  liker  each  other, 

In  smiles,  and  in  tears,  than  that  moment  to  this. 
The  first  was  like  daybreak,  new,  sudden,  delicious, 

The  dawn  of  a  pleasure  scarce  kindled  up  yet; 
The  last  was  that  farewell  of  daylight  more  precious 

More  glowing  and  deep,  as  'tis  nearer  its  set. 
Our  meeting,  tho'  happy,  was  ting'd  by  a  sorrow, 

To  think  that  such  happiness  could  not  remain, 
While  our  parting,  though  sad,  gave  a  hope  that  to- 
morrow 

Would  bring  back  the  blest  hour  of  meeting  again. 


OH !  BLAME  NOT  THE  BARD 

Air — Kilty  Tyrrel. 

Oh  !  blame  not  the  bard  if  he  fly  to  the  bow'rs, 

Where  pleasure  lies,  carelessly  smiling  at  fame ; 
He  was  born  for  much  more,  and  in  happier  hours, 

His  soul  might  have  burn'd  with  a  holier  flame. 
The  string  that  now  languishes  loose  on  the  lyre, 

Might  have  bent  a  proud  bow  to  the  warrior's  dart : 
And  the  lip  which  now  breathes  but  the  song  of  de- 
sire, 

Might  have  pour'd   the  full  tide  of  the  patriot's 
heart ! 

But  alas !  for  his  country — her  pride  is  gone  by, 
And  that  spirit  is  broken  which  i.ever  would,  bend  > 

O'er  the  ruin  her  children  in  secret  must  sigh, 
For  'tis  treason  to  love  her,  and  death  to  defend. 


singer's  own  book.  27 

Unpriz'd  are  her  sons,  till  they've  learn'd  to  betray; 
Uildifltillguiah'd  they  live,  if  they  shame  not  their 
sires, 
And  the  torch  that  would  light  them  through  dignity's 
way, 
Must  be  caught  from  the  pile  where  their  country 
expires. 

Then  blame  not  the  bard,  if  in  pleasure's  soft  dream 

He  should  try  to  forget  what  he  never  can  heal : 
Oh !  give  but  a  hope — let  a  vista  but  gleam 

Through  the  gloom  of  his  country,  and  mark  how 
he'll  feel ! 
That  instant  his  heart  at  her  shrine  would  lay  down 

Every  passion  it  nurs'd,  every  bliss  it  ador'd, 
While  the  myrtle,  now  idly  entwin'd  with  his  crown, 

Like  the  wreath  of  Harrnodius,  should  cover  his 
sword. 

But,  though  glory  be  gone,  and  though  hope  fade 
away, 
Thy  name,  loved  Erin,  shall  live  in  hi3  songs ! 
Not  ev'n  in  the  hour  when  his  heart  is  most  gay, 
Will  he  lose  the  remembrance  of  thee  and  thy 
wrongs ! 

The  stranger  shall  hear  thy  lament  on  his  plains, 
The  sigh  of  thy  harp  shall  be  sent  o'er  the  deep, 

Till  thy  masters  themselves,  as  they  rivet  thy  chains, 
Shall  pause  at  the  song  of  their  captive,  and  weep ! 

LOVE  AND  THE  SUN-DIAL. 

Young  Love  found  a  Dial  once  in  a  dark  shade, 
WThere  man  ne'er  had  wander'd,  nor  sun-beam  play'd. 
:  Why  thus  in  darkness  lie  ?'  whisper'd  young  Love, 
4  Thou  whose  gay  hours  should  in  sunshine  move  V 
4 1  ne'er,'  said  the  Dial,  *  have  seen  the  warm  sun, 
So  noonday  and  midnight  to  me,  Love,  are  one.\  - 


28  THE    AMERICAN 


Then  Love  took  the  Dial  away  from  the  shade, 
And  plac'd  her  where  heaven's  beam  warmly  play'd. 
There  she  reclin'd  beneath  Love's  gazing  eye, 
While  all  mark'd  with  sunshine  her  hours  flew  by  1 
1  Oh !  how,'  said  the  Dial, '  can  any  fair  maid, 
That's  born  to  be  shone  upon,  rest  in  the  shade  V 
But  night  now  comes  on  and  the  sunbeam's  o'er, 
And  Love  stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more ; 
Then  cold  and  neglected,  while  bleak  rain  and  winds 
Are  storminsr  around  her,  with  sorrow  she  finds 
That  love  had  but  number'd  a  few  sunny  hours, 
And  left  the  remainder  to  darkness  and  show'rs ! 


MY  BARK  IS  UPON  TILE  DEEP,  LOVE 

My  bark  is  upon  the  deep,  love, 

My  comrades  impatient  call, 
Awake,  while  the  fairies  sleep,  love. 

Awake  thee !  more  bright  than  all. 
Awake !  awake !  Rosalia  dear,  awake. 

The  sun  may  dry  up  the  tear,  love, 
That  hangs  on  the  drooping  flower, 

But  cold  will  its  rays  appear,  love, 
Away  from  my  lady's  bower. 
But  cold,  &c. 

Awake !  for  yon  splashing  oar,  love, 
Its  diamonds  now  throws  to  light, 

And  faint  from  the  distant  shore,  love, 
My  summons  comes  over  the  night. 
And  faint,  &c. 

i  go — but  ere  yonder  star,  love, 

Shall  set  in  the  mighty  sea, 
Thy  Carlos  shall  seek  the  wTar,  love, 
To  gather  its  wreaths  for  thee. 

Farewell!  farewell!  farewell! 
Rosalia,  love,  farewTell ! 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  29 


COME,  REST  IN  THIS  BOSOM. 

Come,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer' 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home  19 

still  here; 
Here  still  is  the  smile  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast, 
And  the  heart  and  the  hand  all  thy  own  to  the  last ' 

Oh !  what  was  love  made  for,  if  'tis  not  the  same 
Thro'  joy  and  thro'  torments,  thro'  glory  and  shame  ? 
I  knew  not,  I  ask  not,  if  guilt's  in  that  heart, 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art ! 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  angel,  in  moments  of  bliss, — 
Still  thy  angel  I'll  be,  'mid  the  horrors  of  this, — 
Thro'  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to  pursue 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  thee,  or  perish  there  too 


OFT  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT. 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me  ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears  of  boyhood's  years, 

The  words  of  love  then  spoken, 
The  eyes  that  shone,  now  dimm'd  and  gone, 
The  cheerful  heart's  now  broken ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night,  <fec. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  link'd  together, 
I've  seen  around  me  fall, 

Like  leaves  in  winter  weather, 
I  feel  like  one,  who  treads  alone 

Some  banquet  hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled,  whose  garland's  dead. 
And  all  but  me  departed. 

Thus  in  the  stilly  night,  &c. 


30  THE  AMERICAN 


LIFE  LET  US  CHERISH. 

Life  let  us  cherish 

While  yet  the  taper  glows, 

And  the  fresh  flow'ret, 
Pluck  ere  it  close. 

Why  are  we  fond  of  toil  and  care 
Why  choose  the  rankling  thorn  to  wear, 
And  heedless  by  the  lily  stray, 
Which  blossoms  in  our  way 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c 

When  clouds  obscure  the  atmosphere, 
And  forked  lightnings  rend  the  air, 
The  sun  resumes  his  silver  crest, 
And  smiles  adorn  the  west. 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c. 

The  genial  seasons  soon  are  o'er, 
Then  let  us  ere  we  quit  this  shore, 
Contentment  seek,  it  is  life's  rest, 
The  sunshine  of  the  breast. 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c. 

Away  with  every  toil  and  care, 
And  cease  the  rankling  thorn  to  wear, 
With  manful  heart  life's  conflicts  meet, 
Till  death  sounds  the  retreat. 
Life  let  us  cherish,  &c. 

NOTHING  AT  ALL. 

In  Derry  down  dale  when  I  wanted  a  mate 
i  went  with  my  daddy,  a  courting  of  Kate , 
With  my  nosegay  so  fine,  in  my  holy-day  clothes, 
My  hands  in  my  pockets  a  courting  I  goes. 
The  weather  was  cold,  and  my  bosom  was  hot, 
My  heart  in  a  gallop — my  mare  in  a  trot — 
Now  I  was  so  bashful,  so  loving  withal, 
My  tongue  stuck  to  my  mouth,  and  I  said 

Nothing  at  all 


singer's  own  book.  31 

When  I  came  to  the  house,  I  look'd  bashful  and  grum, 
The  knocker  1  held  'twixt  my  finder  and  thumb, 
Rap  went  the  knocker,  Kate  show'd  her  chin, 
She  chuckled  and  buckled,  1  bovv'd  and  went  in. 
Now  I  was  as  bashful  as  bashful  could  be, 
And  Kitty,  poor  soul,  was  as  bashful  as  me; 
So  I  laugh'd,  and  I  gnnn'd,  and  I  let  my  hat  fall, 
Giggled,  scratched  my  head,  and  said 

Nothing  at  all. 

If  bashful  was  T,  the  more  bashful  the  maid, 
She  simper'd  and  Btgh'd,  with  her  apron  strings  play'  i. 
The  old  folks  impatient  to  have  the  thing  done, 
Agreed  that  my  Kitty  and  I  should  be  one. 
So,  then  we  young  ones  both  nodded  consent, 
Then  hand  in  hand  to  get  married  we  went, 
When  we  answered  the  parson,  in  voices  so  small, 
You  scarce  could  have  heard  us,  say 

Nothing  at  alL 

But  mark  what  a  change  in  the  course  of  a  week, 
My  Kate  left  off  blushing,  I  boldly  could  speak — 
Could  play  with  my  Kitty,  and  laugh  at  a  jest, 
And  Kate  could  talk,  ay  too,  as  well  as  the  best 
And  talk'd  of  past  follies,  we  oft  have  declar'd 
To  encourage  young  folks,  who  at  wedlock  are  scar'd 
For  if  to  your  aid  some  assurance  vou  call, 
You  may  kiss  and  get  married,  and  it's 

Nothing  at  all 


HERE'S  THE  BOWER. 

Here's  the  bow'r  she  lov'd  so  much, 

And  here's  the  tree  she  planted ; 
Here's  the  harp  she  us'd  to  touch, 

Oh !  how  that  touch  enchanted ! 
Roses  now  unheeded  sis:h, 

Where's  the  hand  to  wreathe  them  ? 
Songs  around  neglected  lie, 

Where's  the  lips  to  breathe  them? 


32  THE  AMERICAN 

Spring  may  bloom,  but  she  we  lov'd 

Ne'er  shall  feel  its  sweetness ; 
Time  that  once  so  fleetly  mov'd, 

Now  hath  lost  its  fleetness. 
Years  were  days  when  here  she  stray'd, 

Days  were  moments  near  her; 
Heaven  ne'er  fbrm'd  a  brighter  maid, 

Nor  pity  wept  a  dearer. 

AWAY  WITH  MELANCHOLY. 

Away  with  melancholy, 

Nor  doleful  changes  ring, 
On  life  and  human  folly, 

But  merrily  let  us  sing, 

Fal  la. 

For  what's  the  use  of  sighing 

When  time  is  on  the  wing ; 
Can  we  prevent  it's  flying  ? 

Then  merrily  let  us  sing, 

Fal  la. 

Come  on  ye  rosy  hours, 

Gay  smiling  moments  bring, 

We'll  strew  the  way  with  flowers, 
And  merrily,  merrily  sing, 

Fal  la. 

KATE  KEARNEY. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Oil!  did  you  ne'er  hear  of  Kate  Kearney, 
She  lives  on  the  banks  of  Killarney, 

From  the  glance  of  her  eye,  shun  danger  and  fly, 
For  fatal 's  the  glance  of  Kate  Kearney. 

For  that  eye  is  so  modestly  beaming, 

You  ne'er  think  of  mischief  she's  dreaming. 

Yet,  Oh!  I  can  tell,  how  fatal  the  spell, 
Fhat  >urks  in  the  eye  of  Kate  Kearney. 


singer's  own  book.  33 

Oh,  should  you  e'er  meet  this  Kale  Kearney, 
Who  lives  ou  the  banks  of"  Killarney, 

Bewail-  of  her  smile,  for  many  a  wile, 
Lies  hid  in  the  smile  of  Kate  Kearney. 

Tho  she  looks  so  bewitchingly  simple, 
Yet  there's  mischief  in  ev'ry  dimple, 

And  who  dares  inhale  her  sigh's  spicy  gale, 
Must  die  by  the  breath  of  Kate  Kearney. 

ARAB  STEED. 

Oh  give  me  but  my  Arab  steed,  a  shield  and  falchion 

bright, 
And  I  will  to  the  battle  speed,  to  save  him  in  the 

fight: 
His  noble  crest  Fll  proudly  wear,  and  gird  his  scarf 

around ; 
But  I  must  to  the  field  repair,  but  I  must  to  the  field 

repair, 
For  hark  the  trumpets  sound !  hark !  hark !  hark  the 
trumpets  sound ! 

Oh  give  me  but  my  Arab  steed, 
A  shield  and  falchion  bright, 
And  I  will  to  the  battle  speed, 
To  save  him  in  the  fight. 

Oh !  with  my  Arab  steed  I'll  go,  to  brave  the  embat- 
tled plain, 

Where  warriors  brave  their  valour  show,  and  drain 
each  noble  vein  : 

His  brow  that  oft  the  battle  braves,  with  fadeless 
laurels  crown'd. 

Shall  guide  me  where  his  falchion  waves,  shall  guide 
me  where,  &c. 

But  hark !  the  trumpets  sound !  hark !  hark !  hark  the 
trumpets  sound ! 

Oh  give  me  but  my  Arab  steed,  &c- 
C 


34  THE  AMERICAN 


HAIL  COLUMBIA. 

By  F.  Hopkinson,  Esq. 

Hail  Columbia !  happy  land ! 
Hail  ye  heroes !  heaven-born  band  I 
Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 
Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause. 
And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 
Enjoyed  the  peaee  your  valour  won. 
Let  independence  be  our  boast. 
Ever  mindful  what  it  cost  ; 
Ever  grateful  for  the  prize, 
Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies, 

Firm — united — let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  liberty ; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  join'd, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  fir. 

Immortal,  patriots !  rise  once  more ; 

Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore ; 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 

Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies, 

Of  toil  and  blood  the  well-earn'd  prize. 
While  offering  peace  sincere  and  just, 
In  heaven  we  place  a  manly  trust, 
That  truth  and  justice  will  prevail, 
And  every  scheme  of  bondage  fail. 
Firm — united,  &c. 

Sound,  sound,  the  trump  of  fame! 
Let  Washington's  great  name, 

Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause, 

Ring  through  the  world  with  loud  applause, 
Let  every  clime  to  freedom  dear, 
Listen  with  a  joyful  ear; 

With  equal  skill,  and  god -like  power 

He  govern'd  in  the  fearful  hour 


singer's  own  book.  35 

Of  horrid  war;  or  guides  with  case, 
The  happier  times  of  honest  peace. 
Firm — united,  &c. 

Behold  the  chief  who  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country  stands — 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat; 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat; 
But  arm'd  in  virtue,  firm  and  true, 
I J  is  hopes  are  fix'd  on  heaven  and  you. 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
And  glooms  obscur'd  Columbia's  day, 
His  steady  m-ind,  from  changes  free, 
Resolv'd  on  death  or  liberty. 

Firm — united — let  us  be, 
Rallying  round  our  liberty; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  join'd, 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

SEEK  NOT  WITH  GOLD  OR  GLITTERING 

GEM. 

Seek  not  with  gold  or  glitt'ring  gem, 

My  simple  heart  to  move; 
To  share  a  kingly  diadem, 

Would  never  gain  my  love. 
The  heart  that's  form'd  in  virtue's  mould, 

For  heart  should  be  exchang'd  ; 
The  love  that  once  is  bought  with  gold, 

May  be  by  gold  estrang  d. 

Can  wealth  relieve  the  lab'ring  mind, 

Or  calm  the  soul  to  rest  ? 
What  healing  balm  can  riches  find 

To  sooth  the  bleeding  breast? 
'Tis  love,  and  love  alone,  has  power 

To  bless  without  alioy  ; 
To  cheer  affliction's  darkest  hour, 

And  heighten  ev'ry  joy. 
Seek  not  with,  &c. 


36  THE   AMERICAN 


WREATH  THE  BOWL. 

Air — Noran  Kista. 

Wreath  the  bowl 

With  flow'rs  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us : 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us* 

Should  love  amid 

The  wreaths  be  hid, 
That  joy  th'  enchanter  brings  us, 

No  danger  fear 

While  wine  is  near, 
We'll  drown  him  if  he  stings  us. 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flow'rs  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us ; 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Tow'rds  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us! 

'Twas  nectar  fed 

Of  old,  'tis  said, 
Their  Junos,  Joves,  A  polios  ; 

And  Man  may  brew 

His  nectar  too, 
The  rich  receipt's  as  follows : — 

Take  wine,  like  this, 

Let  looks  of  bliss 
Around  it  well  be  blended, 

Then  bring  wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream, 
And  there's  your  nectar  splendid ! 
So  wreath  the  bowl,  &c 

Say,  why  did  Time 
His  glass  sublime 
Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly, 


singer's  own  book.  37 

When  wine  he  knew 

Runs  brisker  through, 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly  ? 

Oh,  lend  it  us, 

And  smiling  thus, 
The  glass  in  two  we'd  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 
And  fill  both  ends  for  ever! 

Then  wreath  the  bowl,  &c 


TEACH,  OH!  TEACH  ME  TO  FORGET. 

Friends  depart,  and  memory  takes  them, 

To  her  caverns  pure  and  deep ; 
And  a  fore'd  smile  only  wakes  them, 

From  the  shadows  where  they  sleep. 
Who  shall  school  the  heart's  affection  ? 

Who  shall  banish  its  regret  ? 
If  you  blame  my  deep  dejection, 

Teach,  oh !  teach  me  to  forget. 

Bear  me  not  to  festive  bowers, 

Twafl  with  them  I  sat  there  last ; 
Weave  me  not  spring's  early  flowers, 

They'll  remind  me  of  the  past 
Music  seems  like  mournful  wailing, 

In  the  halls  where  we  have  met 
Mirth's  gay  call  is  unavailing ; 

Teach,  oh!  teach  me  to  forget! 

One  who  hopelessly  remembers, 

Cannot  bear  a  dawning  light; 
He  would  rather  watch  the  embers 

Of  a  Love  that  once  was  bright ; 
Who  shall  school  the  heart's  affection  ? 

Who  shall  banish  its  regret  ? 
If  you  blame  my  deep  dejection 

Teach,  oh  !  teach  me  to  forget ! 


39  THE    AMERICAN 


FARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one, 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more, 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er ; 
Thy  words,  whate'er  their  flattering  spell, 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceiv'd, 
But  eyes  that  acted  truth  so  well, 

Were  sure  to  be  believ'd. 
Then  fare  thee,  &c. 

Yet  those  eyes  look  constant  still, 

True  as  stars  they  keep  their  light, 
Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fulfil, 

Of  blushing  always  bright; 
'Tis  only  on  thy  changeful  heart 

The  blame  of  falsehood  lies ; 
Love  lies  in  ev'ry  other  part, 

But  there,  alas !  he  dies. 
Then  fare  thee,  &c. 


WHEN  COLD  IN  THE  EARTH. 

Air — Limerick's  Lamentation. 

I. 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  hast 
loved, 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee  then ; 
Or,  if  from  their  slumber  the  veil  be  removed, 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence  and  close  it  again : 
And  oh!  if  'tis  pain  to  remember  how  far 

From  the  pathways  of  light  he  was  tempted  to 
roam, 
Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 

That  arose  on  his  darkness,  and  guided  him  home. 


SISGERS    OWN    BOOK.  39 


From  ihee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 

The  revealings,  ihat  taught  him  true  love  to  adore, 
To  ieel  the  briglil  presence  and  turn  him  with  shame 

From  the  idols  lie  darkly  had  knelt  to  before. 
O'er  the  waves  of  a  lite  long  benighted  and  wild, 

Thou  cam'st  like  a  soft  golden  calm  o'er  the  sea 
And,  if  happiness  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 

On  his  ev'ning  horizon,  the  light  was  from  thee* 

III. 

And  tho'  sometimes  the  shade  of  past  folly  would  rise, 

And  tho'  falsehood  again  would  allure  him  to  stray, 
He  but  turn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  in  those  eyes, 

And  the  folly,  the  falsehood,  soon  vanish'd  away. 
As  the  priests  of  the  Sun,  when  their  altar  grew  dim, 

At  file  day-beam  alone  could  its  lustre  repair, 
So  if  virtue  a  moment  grew  languid  in  him, 

He  but  flew  to  that  smile,  and  rekindled  it  there ! 


TAKE  HEED  !   WHISPER  LOW. 

Behold!  how  brightly  breaks  the  morning, 
Tho'  bleak  our  lot,  our  hearts  are  warm ; 
To  toil  inured,  all  danger  scorning, 

We'll  liaii  the  breeze  or  brave  the  storm. 
Put  off,  put  off,  our  course  we  know, 
Take  heed,  whisper  low  : 
Look  out  and  spread  your  net  with  care; 
Take  heed,  whisper  low7 — 
The  prey  we  seek  we'll  soon  ensnare. 

Away !  no  cloud  is  low'ring  o'er  us, 
Freely  now  we'll  stem  the  wave: 

Hoist,  hoist  all  sail,  while  full  before  us, 
Hope's  beacon  shines  to  cheer  the  bravev 
Put  off,  pin  off,  our,  &c 


40 


THE    AMERICAN 


AWAY!  MY  GALLANT  PAGE,  AWAY! 

Away  !  my  gallant  page,  away ! 

The  clarion  sounds  afar ; 
I  see  the  victor's  proud  array, 

Returning  from  the  war. 
The  heroes  throng  the  shining  strand, 

Thy  valiant  lord  is  there : 
And  thou  shalt  from  his  lady's  hand, 

The  promis'd  greeting  bear : 
Then  gallop  away,  my  young  and  brave, 

The  welcome  call  obey, 
And  merrily  speed  thy  eager  steed, 

My  gallant  boy,  away  ! 

Away,  and  meet  my  warrior  love ! 

The  joyous  shout  is  high, 
O'er  vale  and  mountain,  dale  and  grove, 

And  echo  joins  the  cry  : 
Oh !  say  that,  from  his  native  tow'r, 

I  watch,  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
The  triumphs  of  the  happy  hour, 

That  brings  him  home  again. 
Then  gallop  away,  Sec. 

FORGET  THEE. 

Forget  thee ! — in  my  banquet  hall. 

Go  ask  my  fellow-men ; 
Or  ask  the  tear  that  secret  falls, 

If  I  forget  thee  then. 
The  midnight  hours  with  song  and  wine 

I  ever  shar'd  with  thee ; 
The  midnight  hours  they  still  are  thine, 

And  fatal  memory ! 

Forget  thee ! — in  the  mirthful  dance, 
There  steals  some  eye's  bright  ray, 

Like  thine — that  makes  me  with  its  glance- 
Turn  swift  in  tears  away. 


singer's  own  book.  41 


Go  ask  my  minstrels,  when  they  breathe 

The  verse  the  poet's  pen 
With  each  Parnassian  sweet  hath  wreatL  \ 

If  I  forget  thee  then  ? 

Forget  thee ! — Oh,  there  is  but  cms 

Could  from  my  memory  chase 
Each  sweet  charm  I  have  gazed  upon, 

Each  softly  winning  grace ; 
To  be  that  one's,  my  first,  first  vow 

I  pledged  with  infant  breath, 
And  he  comes  to  demand  me  now, 

Thy  rival,  love,  is  death  ! 

Forget  thee ! — when  my  funeral  urn 

Thy  tearful  gaze  shall  meet, 
And  censers  of  aroma  burn, 

Exhaling  at  my  feet: 
When  winds  and  storms  careering  sweep 

Unheeded  o'er  my  breast, 
And  cypress  waves — then  turn  and  weep, 

And,  own  my  love's  at  rest! 


LOVE  THEE,  DEAREST. 

Love  thee,  dearest,  love  thee! 

Yes — by  yonder  star  I  swear, 
Which  thro'  tears  above  thee, 
Shines  so  sadly  fair. 
Tho'  too  6ft  dim, 
With  tears  like  him, 
Like  him  my  truth  will  shine ; 
And  love  thee,  dearest,  love  thee! 
Yes — till  death  I'm  thine. 

Leave  thee,  dearest,  leave  thee ! 
No — that  star  is  not  more  true ; 
When  my  vows  deceive  thee, 
He  will  wander  too. 
A  cloud  of  night 
May  veil  his  light, 


42 


THE  AMERICAN 


And  death  shall  darken  mine, 
But  leave  thee,  dearest,  leave  thee! 
No — till  death  I'm  thine. 


o» 


ALICE  GRAY. 

She's  all  my  fancy  painted  her 

She's  lovely !  she's  divine ! 
But  her  heart  is  another's, 

She  never  can  be  mine ; 
Yet  iovM  I,  as  man  ne'er  lov'd, 

A  love  without  decay, 
Oh !  my  heart  is  breaking 

For  the  love  of  Alice  Gray. 

Her  dark  brown  hair  is  braided 

O'er  a  brow  of  spotless  white, 
Her  soft  blue  eye  now  languishes, 

Now  flashes  with  delight. 
The  hair  is  braided  not  for  me, 

The  eye  is  turned  away, 
Yet  my  heart,  my  heart  is  breaking, 

For  the  love  of  Alice  Gray. 

For  her  I'd  climb  the  mountain  side, 

For  her  I'd  stem  the  flood — 
For  her  I'd  dare  the  battle  strife, 

Tho'  I  seaFd  it  with  my  blood. 
By  night  I'd  watch  her  slumbers, 

And  tend  her  steps  by  day — 
But  scorn'd  is  the  heart  that's  breaking 

For  the  love  of  Alice  Gray. 

I've  sank  beneath  the  summer's  sun, 

And  trembled  in  the  blast, 
But  my  pilgrimage  is  nearly  done, 

The  heavy  conflict's  past. 
And  when  the  green  sod  wraps  my  grave* 

May  pity  haply  say, 
*  Oh !  his  heart  was  broken 

For  ths  love  of  Alice  Gray.' 


singer's  own  book.  43 


HE  STRIKES  THE  MINSTREL  LYRE. 

Answer  to  Alice  Gray. 

He  strikes  the  minstrel  lyre  again 

And  happy  is  his  soiur. 
For  brightly  beams  his  laughing  eye, 

And  rapture's  on  his  tongue  : 
The  clouds  that  darkened  all  his  hopes, 

Have  floated  all  away ; 
Her  heart,  her  heart,  is  now  his  own, 

He's  loved  by  Alice  Gray. 

He  quits  the  dark  and  sorrowing  scene, 

His  cares  are  hushed  to  rest, 
His  pilgrimage  is  past  and  gone, 

His  faithful  love  is  blest; 
And  now  for  him,  and  him  alone 

Her  eye  shines  bright  and  gay; 
Her  heart,  her  heart  is  now  his  own, 

His  bride  is  Alice  Gray. 

SIGH  NOT  FOR  LOVE. 

Sigh  not  for  love,  if  you  wish  not  to  know 
Every  torment  that  waits  on  us  mortals  here  below; 
If  you  fain  would  avoid  all  the  dangers  and  snares 
That  attend  human  life,  and  escape  all  its  cares, — 

Sigh  not  for  love. 

If  cheerfulness  smiles  on  the  cup  as  you  sip, 
And  you  wish  not  to  dash  the  sweet  cup  from  your  lip 
If  life's  rill  you  see  sparkle  with  pleasure's  gay  beam, 
Nor  destroy  the  gay  bubbles  that  rise  on  the  stream, — 

Sigh  not  for  love. 

If  you  dread  the  sharp  pang  that  assails  the  fond  heart, 
If  you  wish  to  shun  sorrow,  and  mirth  would  impart, 
If  you  prize  a  calm  life,  with  contentment  and  ease, 
If  "pleasure  can  charm  you  and  liberty  please, — 

Sigh  not  for  love 


44  THE   AMERICAN 


THE  MELLOW  HORN. 

At  dawn,  Aurora  gaily  breaks, 

In  all  her  proud  attire, 
Majestic  o'er  the  glassy  lakes, 

Reflecting  liquid  fire. 
All  nature  smiles  to  usher  in, 

The  blushing  queen  of  morn ; 
And  huntsmen  with  the  day  begin, 

To  wind  the  mellow  horn. 

And  huntsmen  with,  &c. 

At  eve,  when  gloomy  shades  obscure 

The  tranquil  Shepherd's  cot, 
When  tinkling  bells  are  heard  no  more, 

And  daily  toil  forgot ; 
'Tis  then  the  sweet  enchanting  note, 

On  Zephyrs  gently  borne, 
With  watching  cadence  seems  to  float, 

Around  the  mellow  horn. 

With  witching  cadence,  &c 

COME  DWELL  WITH  ME, 

Come  dwell,  come  dwell  with  me. 
And  our  home  shall  be,  our  home  shall  be, 
A  pleasant  cot, 
In  a  tranquil  spot, 
With  a  distant  view  of  the  changing  sea : 
My  cottage  is  a  magic  scene, 
The  shelt'ring  boughs  seem  ever  green ; 
The  streamlet  as  it  flows  along, 
Is  murmuring  a  fairy  song. 

Come  dwell  with,  &c. 

The  tendrils  of  a  purple  vine, 
Around  the  rustic  porch  shall  twine ; 
The  woodbine  and  the  wild  rose  flow'r, 
Will  make  each  casement  seem  a  bow'rj 


finger's  own  rook.  45 


I  will  rot  lei  thee  once  regret, 
The  gay  saloons  where  first  we  met ; 
Twill  \)v  my  [Hide  to  heal  thee  say, 
Love  makes" this  valley  lar  more  gay. 
Then  dwell  with,  Sec. 

MY  FRIEND  AND  PITCHER. 

The  wealthy  fool,  with  gold  in  store, 

Will  still  desire  to  grow  richer; 
Give  me  but  these,  I  ask  no  more, 

Mv  charming  girl,  my  friend,  and  pitcher. 
Mv  friend  so  rare,  my  girl  so  fair, 

With  such,  what  mortal  can  be  richer? 
Give  me  but  these — a  fig  for  care, 

With  my  sweet  girl,  my  friend,  and  pitcher. 

From  morning  sun  I'd  never  grieve, 

To  toil  a  hedge?  or  a  ditcher, 
If  that,  when  I  come  home  at  eve, 

I  might  enjoy  my  friend  and  pitcher. 

My  friend  so  rare,  &c. 

Though  fortune  ever  shuns  my  door, 
I  do  not  know  what  can  bewitch  her; 

With  all  my  heart  can  I  be  poor, 

With  my  sweet  girl,  my  friend,  and  pitcher 

My  friend  so  rare,  die. 

WHEN  THE  ROSE-BUD. 

When  the  rose-bud  of  summer,  its  beauty  bestowing 
On  winter's  rude  banks  all  its  sweetness  shall  pour, 

And  the  sunshine  of  day  in  night's   darkness   be 
glowing, 
Oh !  then,  dearest  Ellen,  I'll  love  you  no  more. 

When  ot  hope  the  last  spark,  which  thy  smile  loved 
to  cherish, 
In  my  bosom  shall  die,  and  its  splendour  be  o'er, 
And  the  pulse  of  that  heart  which  adores  you  shall 
perish, 
Oh!  then,  dearest  Ellen,  I'll  love  you  no  more. 


46  THE  AMERICAN 


NO!  NO! 

The  celebrated  duet  sung  by  Mr  Sinclair  and  Mrs 

Rowbolham. 

He. — Will  you  not  bless,  with  one  sentence,  a  lover, 

Whose  bosom  beats  only  for  you ; 
The  cause  of  your  anger,  I  prythee  discover 

Pray  tell  me  the  reason  for  I 
She.  No! 

He. — Say,  dearest,  you  still  love  me  ? 
She.  No ! 

He. — Oh,  how  can  you  doom  me  to  sorrow , 

Yet  once  again  bless  me  with 

She.  No 

He. — And  promise  to  meet  me  to-morrow 

Promise — 
She.  No! 

He. — Prythee — 
She.  No! 

He. — Don't  say,  no ! 

He. — Must  we,  then,  dearest  Maria,  sever, 

And  can  you  then  part  with  me  ? 
She.  No! 

He. — Then  swear  by  yon  sun,  to  be  mine  only  ever, 

You  cannot  refuse  me,  love ! 
She.  No! 

He. — You  hate  not  your  fond  lover? 
She.  No! 

He. — Your  hand  to  my  faithful  heart  pressing 

Sav,  does  it  offend  you,  love  ? 
She.  No! 

He. — Then,  to  marry  Will  not  be  distressing, 

Answer  ? 
Slie.  No! 

He  — Once  more. 
She.  No!  no!  no!  no  J 


singer's  own  book.  47 


THE  STORM. 

Cease,  rude  Boreas,  blustering  railer, 

List  ye  landsmen  all  to  me; 
Messmates,  hear  a  brother  sailor 

Sing  the  clangers  of  the  sea : 
From  bounding  billows  lirst  in  motion, 

When  the  distant  whirlwinds  rise, 
To  the  tempest-troubled  ocean, 

Where  the  seas  contend  with  sides-. 

Hark!  the  boatswain  hoarsely  bawling — 

By  topsail  sheets  and  haulyards  stand — 
Down  topgallants  quick  be  hauling — 

Down  your  staysails,  hand,  boys,  hand* 
Now  it  freshens,  set  the  braces, — 

Now  the  topsail  sheets  let  go — 
Luff,  boys,  luff,  don't  make  wry  faces — 

To  your  topsails  nimbly  clew. 

Now  all  you  at  home  in  safety, 

Sheltered  from  the  howling  storm, 
Taring  joys  by  Heaven  vouchsafed  ye, 

Of  our  state  vain  notions  form. 
Round  us  roars  the  tempest  louder, 

Think  what  fear  our  minds  enthralls ; 
Harder  yet,  it  yet  blows  harder. — 

Now  again  the  boatswain  cails ! 

The  topsail  yards  point  to  the  wind,  boys, 

See  all  clear  to  reef  each  course — 
Let  the  loresheet  go — don't  mind,  boys, 

Tnough  the  weather  should  be  worse. 
Fore  and  aft  the  spritsail  vard  get — 

Reef  the  mizen — see  all  clear — 
Hands  up,  each  preventer  brace  set — 

Man  the  foreyard — cheer,  lads,  cheer. 

Now  the  dreadful  thunder  roaring, 
Peal  on  peal,  contending,  clash  : 

On  our  heads  fierce  rain  falls  pouring* 
In  our  eyes  blue  lightnings  flash.; 


48  THE  AMERICAN 

One  wide  water  all  around  us, 

All  above  us  one  black  sky; 
Different  deaths  at  once  surround  us — 

Hark !  what  means  that  dreadful  cry  ? 

The  foremast's  gone !  cries  every  tongue  out, 
O'er  the  lee,  twelve  feet  'bove  deck; 

A  leak  beneath  the  chest-tree's  sprung  out- 
Call  all  hands  to  clear  the  wreck. 

Quick  the  lanyards  cut  to  pieces — 
Come,  my  hearts,  be  stout  and  bold! 

Plumb  the  well — the  leak  increases — 
Four  feet  water  in  the  hold ! 

While  o'er  the  ship  wild  waves  are  beating, 

We  for  wives  or  children  mourn ; 
Alas!  from  hence  there's  no  retreating, 

Alas!  to  them  there's  no  return. 
Still  the  leak  is  gaining  on  us, 

Both  chain-pumps  are  choked  below ; 
Heaven  have  mercy  here  upon  us ! 

For  only  that  can  save  us  now. 

O'er  the  lea-beam  is  the  land,  boys — 

Let  the  guns  o'erboard  be  thrown — 
To  the  pump  come,  every  hand,  boys — 

See  our  mizenmast  is  gone. 
The  leak  we've  found,  it  can't  pour  fast, 

We've  lighten'd  her  a  foot  or  more  ; 
Up  and  rig  a  jury-foremast — 

She  rights ! — she  rights !  boys — wear  off  shore. 

Now,  once  more,  peace  round  us  beaming, 

Since  kind  Heaven  has  saved  our  lives, 
From  our  eyes  joy's  tears  are  streaming, 

For  our  children  and  our  wives: 
Grateful  hearts  now  beat  in  wonder 

To  him  who  thus  prolongs  our  days; — 
Hush'd  to  rest  the  mighty  thunder, 

Every  voice  bursts  forth  in  praise. 


singer's  own  book.  49 

WJLLIAM  TELL. 

When  William  Tell  was  doom'd  to  die, 

Or  hit  the  mark  upon  his  infant's  head, 
The  bell  toll'd  out,  the  hour  was  nigh, 

And  soldiers  march'd  with  grief  and  dread! 
The  warrior  came,  serene  and  mild, 

Gaz'd  all  around  with  dauntless  look, 
Till  his  fond  boy  unconscious  grnil'd ; 

Then  nature  and  the  father  spoke. 
And  now,  each  valiant  Swiss  his  grief  partakes, 
For  they  sigh, 
And  wildly  cry, 
Poor  William  Tell!  once  hero  of  the  lakes. 

But  soon  is  heard  the  muffled  drum, 

And  straight  the  pointed  arrow  flies, 
The  trembling  boy  expects  his  doom, 

All,  all  shriek  out — "he  dies!  he  dies!" 
When  lo!  the  lofty  trumpet  sounds! 

The  mark  is  hit!  the  child  is  free! 
Into  his  father's  arms  he  bounds, 

Inspir'd  by  love  and  liberty! 
And  now  each  valiant  Swiss  their  joy  partakes, 
For  mountains  ring, 
Whilst  they  sing, 
Live  William  Tell!  the  hero  of  the  lakes. 

ROSE  OF  PEACE. 

They  say,  that  in  the  bowers, 

The  rose  of  peace  serenely  grows, — 
The  proud  parterre — the  lordly  palace 

No  such  fragrance  knows. 
If  from  its  humble  home,  away 

We  bear  the  tender  prize, — 
Then  leaf  by  leaf,  (so  sages  say,) 

The  lovely  stranger  dies. 

Then  leaf  bv  leaf,  &c. 

D 


50  THE  AMERICAN 

Ye  Sylphs !  who  guard  the  flower, 

That  priceless  gift,  so  sweetr  so  fair, 
I  ask  not  grandeur,  wealth  nor  power, 

But  this  be  still  my  prayer: 
To  soothe  my  lot,  wherever  cast, 

Whate'er  my  portion  ber 
The  rose  of  peace,  while  life  shall  last,. 

Oh!  let  it  bloom  with  me ! 

The  rose  of  peace,  &c- 

THE  VOICE  OF  HER  I  LOVE, 

How  sweet  at  close  of  silent  eve 

The  harp's  responsive  sound ; 
How  sweet  the  vows  that  ne'er  deceive,. 

And  deeds  by  virtue  crown'd ! 
How  sweet  to  sit  beneath  a  tree 

In  some  delightful  grove ; 
But  oh!  more  soft,  more  sweet  to  mer 

The  voice  of  her  I  love. 

Whene'er  she  joins  the  village  train. 

To  hail  the  new-born  day, 
Mellifluous  notes  compose  each  strain, 

Which  zephyrs  waft  away. 
The  frowns  of  fate  I'll  calmly  bear, 

In  humble  sphere  to  move; 
Content  and  bless'd  whene'er  I  hear 

The  voice  of  her  I  love. 

OH!  AFTER  MANY  ROVING  YEARS 

Oh  !  after  many  roving  years, 

How  sweet  it  is  to  come, 
To  the  dwelling  place  of  early  youth. 

Our  first,  our  dearest  home  ! 
To  turn  away  our  weary  eyes, 

From  proud  ambition's  tow'rs ; 
And  wander  in  the  summer  fields. 

Among  the  trees  and  flowers. 
Oh,  after  many,  &e» 


singer's  own  book.  51 

But  I  am  chang'd,  since  last  I  gazed 

On  yonder  tranquil  scene; 
And  sat  beneath  the  old  witch  elm 

That  shades  the  village  green ; 
And  vvatch'd  my  boat  upon  the  brook, 

As  't  were  a  regal  galley ; 
And  sigh'd  not  for  a  joy  on  earth, 

Beyond  the  Happy  Valley. 

Oh,  after  many,  &c. 

I  wish  T  could  recall  again 

That  bright  and  blameless  joy; 
And  summon,  to  my  weary  heart, 

The  feelings  of  a  boy. 
But  I  look  on  scenes  of  past  delight, 

Without  my  wonted  pleasure, 
As  a  miser  on  the  bed  of  death 

Looks  coldly  on  his  treasure. 

Yet,  alter  many,  &c. 

THE  ROSE  OF  ALLANDALE. 

The  morn  was  fair,  the  skies  w7ere  clear, 

No  breath  came  o'er  the  sea, 
When  Mary  left  her  highland  cot, 

And  wauder'd  forth  with  me  : 
Tho'  flowers  deck'd  the  mountain's  side, 

And  fragrance  fill'd  the  vale, 
By  far  the  sweetest  flower  there, 

Was  the  Rose  of  Allandale. 

Where'er  I  wander'd,  east  or  west, 

Tho'  fate  began  to  lower, 
A  solace  still  was  she  to  me, 

In  sorrow's  lonely  hour  : 
When  tempests  lasn'd  our  gallant  bark, 

And  rent  her  shiv'ring  sail, 
One  maiden  form  withstood  the  storm, 

'Twas  the  Rose  of  Allandale. 


52  THE   AMERICAN 


And  when  my  fever'd  lips  were  parch'd, 

On  Afric's  burning  sand, 
She  whisper' d  hopes  of  happiness, 

And  tales  of  distant  land: 
My  life  had  been  a  wilderness, 

tJnblest  by  fortune's  gale, 
Had  fate  not  link'd  my  lot  to  her's, 

The  Rose  of  Allandale. 


THE  BRIDE. 

Oh  !  take  her,  but  be  faithful  still, 

And  may  the  bridal  vow, 
Be  sacred  held  in  after  years, 

And  warmly  breath'd  as  now ; 
Remember,  'tis  no  common  tie 

That  binds  her  youthful  heart: 
'Tis  one  that  only  truth  should  weave, 

And  only  death  can  part. 

The  joys  of  childhood's  happy  hour, 

The  home  of  riper  years. 
The  treasur'd  scenes  of  early  youth. 

In  sunshine  and  in  tears , 
The  purest  hopes  her  bosom  knew, 

When  her  young  heart  was  free, 
All  these  and  more  she  now  resigns, 

To  brave  the  wTorld  with  thee. 

Her  lot  in  life  is  fix'd  with  thine, 

Its  good  and  ill  to  share, 
And  well  I  know  'twill  be  her  pride, 

To  sooth  each  sorrow  there ; 
Then  take  her,  and  may  fleeting  time, 

Mark  only  Joy's  increase, 
And  may  your  days  glide  sweetly  on, 

In  happiness  and  peace. 


singer's  own  book.  53 


ORATOR  PUFF. 

Mr.  Orator  Puff  had  two  tones  in  his  voice, 

The  one  squeaking  thus,  and  the  other  down  so  ; 
In  each  sentence  he  uttcr'd  he  gave  you  your  choice 
For  one  half  was  B  alt,  and  the  rest  G  below. 
Oh !  oh  !  Orator  Puff, 
One  voice  for  an  orator's  surely  enough. 

But  he  still  talk'd  away,  spite  of  coughs  and  of  frowns 
So  distracting  all  ears  with  his  ups  and  his  downs, 
That  a  wag  once,  on  hearing  the  orator  say 
'  My  voice  is  for  war,'  ask'd  him  which  of  them,  pray  ? 
Oh!  oh!  &c. 

Reeling  homewards,  one  evening,  top-heavy  with  gin. 
And  rehearsing  his  speech  on  the  weight  of  the 
crown, 
He  tripp'd  near  a  sawT-pit,  and  tumbled  right  in, 
'  Sinking  fund,'  the  last  word  in  his  noddle   :ame 
down, 
Oh!  oh!  &c. 

Good  lord,'  he  exclaimed,  in  his  he  and  she  tones, 
Help  me  out — help  me  out — I  have   broken  my 

bones !' 
*  Help  you  out !'  said  a  Paddy  who  pass'd,  '  what  a 

bother  ? 
4  Why,  there 's  (wo  of  you  there ;  can't  you  heir    me 
another  V 
Oh!  oh!  &c 

THE  PHANTOM  SHIP. 

'Twas  midnight  dark. 
The  seaman's  bark 
Swift  o'er  the  waters  bore  him ; 
When,  through  the  night, 
He  spied  a  light, 
Shoot  o'er  the  wave  before  him. 


54  THE    AMERICAN 

"  A  sail !  a  sail !"  he  cries, 

She  comes  from  the  Indian  shore 

And  to-night  shall  be  our  prize, 
With  her  freight  of  golden  ore." 

Sail  on,  sail  on, — 

When  morning  shone, 
He  saw  the  gold  still  clearer, 

But  tho'  so  fast, 

The  waves  he  pass'd, 
That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nearer 

Bright  daylight  came, 

And  still  the  same 
Rich  bark  before  him  floated ; 

While  on  the  prize, 

His  wishful  eyes, 
Like  any  young  lover's  doated. 

■**  More  sail !  more  sail !""  he  cries, 
While  the  wave  o'er-tops  the  mast. 

And  his  bounding  galley  flies, 
Like  an  arrow  before  the  blast. 

Thus  on  and  on, 

Till  day  was  gone, 
And  the  moon  thro'  heav'n  did  hie  her, 

He  swept  the  main, 

But  all  in  vain, 
That  boat  seem'd  never  the  nigher. 

And  many  a  day, 

To  night  gave  wray, 
And  many  a  morn  succeeded 

While  still  his  flight, 

Thro'  day  and  night, 
That  restless  mariner  speeded. 

Who  knows — who  knows  what  seas, 
He  is  now  careering  o'er  ? 

Behind  the  eternal  breeze, 
And  that  mocking  bark  before ' 


singer's  own  book.  55 


For,  oh!   till  sky 

And  earth  shall  die, 
And  their  death  leave  none  to  rue  it, 

That  boat  must  flee, 

O'er  the  boundless  sea, 
And  that  shipjn  vain  pursue  it 

SWISS  BOY. 

Come,  arouse  thee,  arouse  thee,  my  brave  Swiss  boy, 

Take  thy  pail  and  to  labour  away !  [Repeat.] 

The  sun  is  up  with  ruddy  beam  ; 

The  kine  are  thronging  to  the  stream. 

Come,  arouse  thee,  arouse  thee,  my  brave  Swiss  boy, 

Take  thy  pail,  and  to  labour  away. 

Am  not  I,  am  not  T,  say,  a  merry  Swiss  boy, 
When  I  hie  to  the  mountains  away! 
For  there  a  shepherd  maiden  dear, 
Awaits  ray  song  with  listening  ear. 

Am  not  I,  &c 

Then  at  night!  then  at  night — Oh!  a  gay  Swiss  boy. 

I'm  away  to  my  comrades,  away! 

The  cup  we  fill — the  wine  is  pass'd 

In  friendship  round,  until  at  last, 

With  good  night!  and  good  night!  goes  the  happy 

Swiss  boy 
To  his  home  and  his  slumbers,  away. 

THE  SWISS  MAID. 

Come  haste  thee,  come  haste  thee,  my  bonny  Swiss 

maid. 
Take  thy  cloak,  and  to  church  let's  away; 
The  plighted  love,  I  claim  so  true, 
For  true's  my  love,  sincere  to  you, 
Then  haste  thee,  come  haste  thee,  my  bonny  Swiss 

maid, 
Take  thy  cloak,  and  to  church  let's  away. 


56  THE  AMERICAN 


Am  not  I,  am  not  I,  then  a  happy  Swiss  maid  ? 
Now  bless'd  with  my  own  true  love ; 
My  shepherd  swain  to  welcome  home, 
And  hail  with  joy  each  night's  return, 
Am  not  I,  am  not  I,  then  a  happy  Swiss  maid, 
Now  blest  with  my  own  true  love  ? 

Now  at  eve,  now  at  eve,  see  the  happy  Swiss  maid, 

In  her  cot,  with  contentment  and  peace ; 

There's  nought  disturbs,  devoid  of  care, 

Her  rest  is  sweet,  she  knows  no  fear, 

Then  '  good  night,'  and  '  good  night,'  goes  the  happy 

Swiss  maid, 
In  her  cot,  to  her  slumbers  in  peace. 

THERE'S    A    TEAR   THAT    FLOWS    WHEN 

WE  PART. 

There's  a  tear  that  flows  when  we  part, 

From  a  friend  whose  loss  we  moan; 
There's  a  tear  that  flows  from  the  half-broken  heart, 

When  we  think  he  may  never  return, 

Ah !  never. 

5Tis  hard  to  be  parted  from  those 

With  whom  we  for  ever  could  dwell ; 

But  bitter  indeed  is  the  sorrow  that  flows, 
When  perhaps  we  are  saying  farewell, 

For  ever. 

There's  a  tear  that  brightens  the  eye 

Of  the  friend  when  absence  is  o'er; 
There's  a  tear  that  flows  not  from  sorrow  but  joy, 

When  we  think  to  be  parted  no  more, 

Oh !  never. 

When  all  that  in  absence  we  dread 

Is  past,  and  forgotten's  our  pain  ; 
How  sweet  is  the  tear  we  at  such  moments  shed, 

When  we  see  the  sweet  object  again, 

For  ever. 


singer's  own  book.  57 

THE  ROMAIKA. 

When  the  Balaika  is  heard  o'er  the  sea, 
I'll  dance  the  romaika,  by  moonlight  with  thee, 
If  waves  then  advancing  should  steal  o'er  our  track, 
Thy  white  feet  in  dancing,  shall  chace  them  all  back. 

When  the  balaika,  &c. 

Then  at  the  closing  of  each  merry  lay, 
We'll  lie  reposing  beneath  the  night  ray, 
Or  if  declining  the  moon  leave  the  skies, 
We'll  talk  by  the  shining  of  each  other's  eyes. 

When  the  balaika,  &c. 

Oh!  then  how  featly  the  dance  we'll  renew, 
Winding  so  fleetly,  its  light  mazes  through, 
Till  stars  shining  o'er  us,  from  heaven's  high  bowers, 
Will  give  their  bright  chorus,  for  one  dance  of  ours. 

When  the  balaika,  &c. 

PENSEZ  A  MOI,  MA  CHERE  AMIE! 

When  sorrow7  clouds  thy  dream  of  mirth, 

And  promised  joys  fade  too  soon, 
When  flowers  lie  scentless  on  the  earth, 

Nor  hope  is  left  to  gild  the  gloom; 
Then  while  sad  thy  heart  may  be, 
Pensez  a  ?noi,  ma  chere  amie! 

When  music  sheds  its  sweetest  lay, 
When  dying  winds  are  heard  at  night, 

And  fancy  with  some  magic  ray 

Shall  soothe  the  breast  with  visions  bright  j 

Then  while  thy  heart  is  calm  and  free, 

Pensez  a  moi,  ma  chere  amie  ! 

Fate  may  sunder  ties  the  nearest, 
As  now  it  tears  this  form  from  thine 

Hearts  whose  love  is  purest,  dearest, 
Feel  the  blight  that's  withering  mine ; 

Yet  still  with  life  'twill  cling  to  thee, 

Pensez  a  moi,  ma  chere  amie! 


58  the  amehican 

But  now  adieu — one  pearly  tear 
Is  stealing  down  thy  fever'd  cheek, 

To  kindred  souls  how  sweet,  how  dear, 
Expressing  more  than  tongue  can  speak! 

Pure  as  that  tear  my  faith  shall  be, 

Pensez  a  moi,  ma  chere  amieJ 


THE  HARPER'S  SONG, 

Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past, 
Summer  dew  is  falling  fast ; 
I  have  wandered  all  the  day, 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray; 
Gentle  hearts  of  gentle  kin, 
Take  the  wand 'ring  harper  in 

Bid  not  me  in  battle  field, 
Buckler  lift,  or  broad-sword  wield ; 
All  my  strength  and  all  my  art, 
fe  to  touch  the  gentle  heart, 
With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
From  the  peaceful  minstrel  string. 

I  feave  song  of  war  for  knight, 
Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright; 
Fairy  tale  to  lull  the  ear, 
Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare ; 
Dark  the  night,  and  long  till  day; 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray. 


HEY  THE  BONNIE  BREAST  KNOTS. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Hey  the  bonnie,  ho  the  bonnie, 
Hey  the  bonnie  breast  knots ; 
Blithe  and  bonnie  were  they  all 
When  they  put  on  the  breast  knots. 
Theie  was  a  bridal  in  our  town, 
For  ilka  lass  there  was  a  loon, 


singer's  own  book.  59 


Some  wore  blnck  and  some  wore  brown, 
But  ilk  ane  had  a  breast  knot. 
Hey  the  bonnie,  &c. 

A  sonsie  lass  wi'  raven  hair, 
Cam'  wi  a  knot  like  lily  fair; 
Gart  mony  hearts  that  hour  feel  sair, 
For  ilk  ane  lo'e'd  her  breast  knot. 
The  bride  a  knot  kept  tae  hersel ! 
Its  colour  she  alone  could  tell, 
Wha'  had  the  like  wad  bear  the  bell, 
And  ha'  a  Jo,  and  a  breast  knot. 
Hey  the  bonnie,  &c. 

It  was  nae  black,  it  was  nae  blue,, 

It  had  nae  sic  unseemly  hue ; 

But  it  was  white,  I  tell  you  true, 

A  braw  bonnie  breast  knot 

Ane  had  the  knot  that  like  to  me, 

Inspired  all  hearts  wi'  mirth  and  glee ; 

Farewell!  kind  friends  and  thanks  to  ye 

That  loe  sae  weel  my  breast  knots. 

Hey  the  bonnie,  ho  the  boniu*. 
Hey  the  bonnie  breast  knots, 
Blithe  and  bonnie  were  they  alt 
When  they  put  on  the  breast  knota 


MY  LUVE'S  LIKE  A  RED,  RED  ROSE. 

Sung  hy  Mr  Sinclair. 

O,  my  luve's  like  a  red,  red  rose, 
That's  newrly  sprung  in  June ; 

O,  my  luve's  like  the  melodie 
That's  sweetly  play'd  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass, 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I  ; 
And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 

Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry. 


60  THE   AMERICAN 

'Till  a'  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear, 
And  the  rocks  melt  wi'  the  sun  ; 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear, 
While  the  sands  o'  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve, 
And  fare  thee  weel  awhile ! 

And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve, 
Tho'  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 


IF  SILENT  LOOKS  BETOKEN. 

If  silent  looks  betoken, 

Our  deeper  feelings  best, 
If  thoughts  which  are  not  spoken, 

Are  but  more  sweetly  guess'd, 
Thou  knowest  mine  already, 

While  gazing  on  my  brow, 
I  grieve  not,  dearest  lady, 

That  language  fails  me  now. 

But  that  hope  may  not  borrow, 

The  bright  hue  of  thine  eyes, 
To  light  love's  world  of  sorrow 

With  a  ray  of  paradise. 
Why  could  I  not  have  met  thee, 

Ere  love  was  so  forbidden? 
Why  may  I  not  forget  thee, 

Since  my  memory  e'en  is  chidden  ? 

Thro'  the  night-time  long  and  lonely, 

My  sleepless  thoughts  are  thine, 
I  weep,  to  fancy  only, 

What  bliss  might  have  been  mine ; 
Oh !  the  spirit  unforgiven, 

No  keener  pangs  hath  known, 
When  gazing  on  the  heaven 

It  ne'er  may  call  its  own. 


singsr's  own  book.  Gl 

TH&  HIGHLAND  WIDOW 

Oh  !  leave  rne  not,  my  only  one, 

Life  hath  few  r  harms  for  me, 
And  wouldst  thou  sever  that,  my  son, 

Which  hinds  my  heart  to  thee: 
Leave  not  the  mountains  and  the  heath, 

Thy  father  used  to  rove, 
Free  as  the  winds  whose  mighty  breath, 

Roam  o'er  the  land  we  love. 

Unlike  a  tree  whose  root  still  clings, 

Where  first  its  branches  grew, 
If  thou  wilt  leave  me,  still  thy  home 

Shall  be  my  dwelling  too: 
Yet,  as  I  take  a  ling'ring  look 

Of  scenes  thy  father  lov'd, 
I  feel  I  cannot  leave  the  home, 

O'er  which  his  footsteps  rov'd. 

HER  HEART  IS  NOT  THERE. 

There  is  no  music  on  the  strings 

Of  her  neglected  lute, 
Her  white  hands  wake  no  more  its  chords, 

Her  bird-like  voice  is  mute. 
She  wreaths  no  garlands  for  her  vase, 

No  roses  for  her  hair ; 
She  loiters  in  her  lonely  grove, 

But  her  heart  is  not  there. 

The  dancers  gather  in  the  hall, 

She  is  amid  the  band, 
With  vacant  smile  and  wand'ring  glance, 

For  those  who  claim  her  hand. 
Her  eyes  fill'd  with  unbidden  tears, 

Her  cheek  is  pale  with  care ; 
She's  lonely  'mid  the  festival, 

For  her  heart  is  not  there. 

She  broods  above  her  own  dear  thoughts, 

As  o'er  her  nest  the  dove, 
While  hope  and  mem'ry's  but  one  dream, 

Her  first  young  dream  of  love. 


6*2  THE    AMERICAN 


She  hears  a  gallant  trumpet  sound, 

A  banner  sweeps  the  air, 
She  sees  a  knight  lead  on  the  charge, 

And  oh,  her  heart  was  there ! 

THE  GOLDEN  GIRL. 

Lucy  is  a  golden  girl, 

But  a  man,  a  man  should  woo  her ; 
They  who  seek  her,  shrink  aback, 

When  they  should,  like  storms,  pursue  her 
All  her  smiles  are  hid  in  light, 

All  her  hair  is  lost  in  splendour, 
But  she  hath  the  eyes  of  night, 

And  a  heart  that's  over  tended 
Oh !  Lucy  is,  &c. 

Yet  the  foolish  suitors  fly, 

(Is 't  excess  of  dread  or  duty  ?) 
From  the  starlight  of  her  eye, 

Leaving  to  neglect  her  beauty : 
Men  by  fifty  seasons  taught, 

Leave  her  to  a  young  beginner, 
Who  without  a  second  thought 

Whispers,  woos,  and  straight  must  win  her. 
Oh !  Lucy  is,  &c. 

MINSTREL'S  RETURN  FROM  THE  WAR. 

The  minstrel's  return'd  from  the  war, 

With  spirits  as  buoyant  as  air, 
And  thus  on  his  tuneful  guitar, 

He  sung  in  the  bovver  of  his  fair : 
"The  noise  of  the  battle  is  over, 

The  bugle  no  more  calls  to  arms ; 
A  soldier  no  more — but  a  lover, 
I  bend  to  the  powTer  of  thy  charms. 
Sweet  lady,  fair  lady,  I'm  thine, 
I  bend  to  the  magic  of  beauty, 
Tho'  the  banner  and  helmet  are  mine 
Yet  love  calls  the  soldier  to  duty." 


singer's  own  book.  G3 

The  minstrel  hi>  suit  warmly  press'd, 

She  blush'd,  ugh'd,  and  bung  down  her  head, 
Till  conquer'd  ihe  fell  on  his  breast, 

And  thus  to  the  happy  youth  said: 
"The  bugle  shall  part  us  love,  never, 

My  bosom  thy  pillow  shall  be, 
Till  death  tears  thee  from  me,  for  ever, 

Still  faithful,  I'll  perish  with  thee." 

Sweet  lady,  &c. 

But  fame  call'd  the  youth  to  the  field ; 

His  banner  wav'd  high  o'er  his  head. 
He  gave  his  guitar  lor  a  shield, 

And  soon  he  lay  low  with  the  dead, 
While  she,  o'er  her  young  hero  bending, 

Received  his  expiring  adieu: 
'I  die  whilst  my  country  defending", 

But  I  die  to  my  lady  love  true." 
*  Oh,  death !  (then  she  cried)  I  am  thine, 

I  tear  off  the  roses  of  beauty ; 
The  grave  of  my  hero  is  mine, 

For  he  died  true  to  love  and  to  duty !" 


OH !  MERRY  ROW  THE  BONNIE  BARK. 

Oh !  merry  row !  Oh !  merry  row, 

The  bormie,  bonnie  bark! 
Bring  back  my  love  to  calm  my  woe, 

Before  the  night  grows  dark. 
My  Donald  wears  a  bonnet  blue, 
A  bonnet  blue,  a  bonnet  blue, 
A  snow  white  rose  upon  it  too; 
A  highland  lad  is  he. 

Then  merry  row,  Oh !  merry  row, 

The  bonnie,  bonnie  bark ; 
Oh !  merry  row  the  bonnie,  bonnie  baric, 
And  bring  him  safe  to  me  T 


As  on  the  pebbly  beach  I  stray'd, 
Where  rocks  and  shoals  prevail 


64  THE  AMERICAN 

7  thus  o'erheard  a  lowland  maid, 

Her  absent  love  bewail. 
A.  storm  arose — the  waves  ran  high, 

The  waves  ran  high,  the  waves  ran  high, 
A.nd  dark  and  murky  was  the  sky ; 
The  w7ind  did  loualy  roar. 

But  they  merry  row'd  the  bonnie  bark, 

The  bonnie  bark,  the  bonnie  bark, 
They  merry  row'd  the  bonnie,  bonnie  bark 
And  brought  her  love  on  shore. 

TO  SIGH  YET  FEEL  NO  PAIN 

To  sigh  yet  feel  no  pain ; 

To  weep  yet  scarce  know  why ; 
To  sport  an  hour  with  beauty's  chain, 

Then  throw  it  idly  by ; 
To  kneel  at  many  a  shrine, 

Yet  lay  the  heart  on  none ; 
To  think  all  other  charms  divine, 

But  those  we  just  have  won ; 
This  is  love — careless  love — 
Such  as  kindleth  hearts  that  rove. 

To  keep  one  sacred  flame 

Through  life  unchilFd,  unmov'd ; 
To  love  in  wintry  age  the  same 

That  first  in  youth  we  lov'd ; 
To  feel  that  we  adore 

To  such  refin'd  excess, 
That  though  the  heart  would  break  with  more, 

We  could  not  live  with  less ; 
This  is  love — faithful  love, — 
Such  as  saints  might  feel  above ! 


'C 


ANNOT  LYLE. 

The  snow  white  plume  her  bonnet  bore, 
Wav'd  not  more  pure  and  fair ; 

Her  sparkling  eye,  a  floating  gem — 
Like  gold,  her  auburn  hair. 


singer's  own  book.  65 

The  rose  bud  slumbering  on  its  bed. 

Ne'er  wak'd  a  sweeter  smile, 
But  now  she's  gone !  and  lost  to  me 

My  lovely  Annot  Lyle ! 

Thy  fniry  form  I  oft  have  seen ; 

On  every  passing  breeze 
Have  heard  the  melody  of  song, 

But,  ah !  no  strains  like  these, 
The  thrilling  tones  that  from  thy  harp 

The  feelings  oft  beguile  ; 
But  now  thou'rt  gone,  and  lost  to  me, 

My  lovely  Annot  Lyle ! 

Although  thy  heart's  another's  now, 

And  beats  no  more  for  me, 
Yet  I  will  teach  my  soul  to  pray, 

That  it  may  pray  for  thee. 
This  bursting  heart  alone  can  feel 

The  absence  of  thy  smiles  ; 
Since  thou  art  gone  and  lost  to  me, 

My  lovely  Annot  Lyle! 


I  LOVE  MY  JEAN. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Of  a'  the  airs  the  wind  can  blaw, 

I  dearly  like  the  west, 
For  there  the  bonnie  lassie  lives, 

The  lassie  I  lo'e  best : 
There  wild-woods  grow,  and  rivers  flow, 

And  mony  a  hill  between ; 
But  day  and  night  my  fancy's  flight 

Is  ever  wi'  my  Jean. 

I  see  her  m  the  dewy  flowers, 

I  see  her  sweet  and  fair  ; 
I  hear  her  in  the  tunefu'  birds, 

I  hear  her  charm  the  air ; 

£ 


66  THE  AMERICAN 


There's  not  a  bonnie  flower  that  springs, 
By  fountain,  shaw,  or  green, 
here's  not  a  bonnie  bird  that  sings, 
But  minds  me  o'  my  Jean. 

0  blaw  ye  westlin  winds,  blaw  saft 
Amang  the  leafy  trees ; 

Wi'  gentle  breath  frae  muir  an'  dale, 

Bring  hame  the  laden  bees : 
And  bring  the  lassie  back  to  me, 

That's  aye  sae  neat  an'  clean  ; 
Ae  blink  o'  her  would  banish  care, 

Sae  charming  is  my  Jean. 

1  see  her  in  the  glassy  stream 

That  winds  along  (he  vale, 
I  hear  her  in  sweet  echo's  voice 

That  dies  along  the  gale  : 
I'll  love  her  while  a  vital  spark 

Shall  shed  its  latest  gleam, 
Gay  nature's  charms  would  soon  depart 

If  'twere  na  for  my  Jean. 


THE  ECHO  DUET. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Now  hope  and  fear  my  bosom  rending, 

Alternate  bid  each  other  cease  : 
Soon  shall  death,  my  terrors  ending, 

Calm  each  transient  thought  to  peace 
Hark!  a  murm'ring  sound  repeating 

Ev'ry  stifled  sigh  I  hear, 
What  can  set  this  bosom  beating, 

Alas !  'tis  mingled  hope  and  fear. 
Now  they  cease  this  way  retiring, 

And  all  is  awful  silence  round. 

Ah!  sure  those  notes,  dear  maid,  were  thine, 
The  echoing  sounds  alone  were  mine, 

'Tis  her  voice  that  meets  my  ear; 

Say  where  art  thou,  whose  voice  I  hear  ? 


singer's  own  book.  67 

Oh !  quickly  speak,  no  longer  roam, 
To  give  thee  liberty  I  come. 
Soft,  love,  'tis  I ;  relief  is  near, 
Where  art  thou  now  ?  I  am  here. 
This  way  advance,  and  you  are  free, 
This  way  to  light  and  liberty. 


O   SAW   YE   THE   LASS   WF  THE  BONNIE 

BLUE  EEN. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

O  saw  ye  the  lass  wi'  the  bonnie  blue  een  ? 
Her  smile  is  the  sweetest  that  ever  was  seen, 
Her  cheek  like  the  rose  is,  but  fresher,  I  ween ; 
She's  the  loveliest  lassie  that  trips  on  the  green. 
The  home  of  my  love  is  below  in  the  valley, 
Where  wild  flowers  welcome  the  wandering  bee ; 
But  the  sweetest  of  flowers  in  that  spot  that  is  seen. 
Is  the  maid  that  I  love,  wi'  the  bonnie  blue  een. 

O  saw  ye  the  lass,  &c. 

When  night  overshadows  her  cot  in  the  glen, 
She'll  steal  out  to  meet  her  loved  Donald  again ; 
And  when  the  moon  shines  on  the  valley  so  green, 
I'll  welcome  the  lass  wi'  the  bonnie  blue  een. 
As  the  dove  that  has  wandered  away  from  his  nest, 
Returns  to  the  mate  his  fond  heart  loves  the  best, 
I'll  fly  from  the  world's  false  and  vanishing  scene, 
To  my  dear  one,  the  lass  wi'  the  bonnie  blue  een. 

O  saw  ye  the  lass,  &c. 

MY  SISTER  DEAR. 

My  sister  dear  o'er  thi3  rude  cheek, 
Oft  I've  felt  the  tear-drop  stealing, 
When  those  mute  looks  have  told  the  foelin/r 

Heav'n  denied  thy  tongue  to  speak ; 
A.nd  thou  hadst  comfort  in  that  tear, 
Sfoed  for  thee,  my  sister  dear. 


68  THE   AMERICAN 

And  now,  alas  !  I  weep  alone, 
By  thee,  my  youth's  dear  friend,  forsaken, 
'Mid  thoughts  that  darkest  fears  awaken, 

Trembling  for  thy  fate  unknown ; 
And  vainly  flows  the  bitter  tear, 
Shed  for  thee,  my  sister  dear. 

'TIS  SAID  THAT  ABSENCE  CONQUERS 

LOVE. 

Tis  said  that  absence  conquers  love, 

But,  oh !  believe  it  not ; 
I've  tried,  alas  !  its  pow'r  to  prove, 

But  thou  art  not  forgot. 
Lady,  though  fate  has  bid  us  part, 

Yet  still  thou  art  as  dear — 
As  fix'd  in  this  devoted  heart, 

As  when  I  clasp'd  thee  here. 

[  plunge  into  the  busy  crowd, 

And  smile  to  hear  thy  name ; 
And  yet,  as  if  I  thought  aloud, 

They  know  me  still  the  same ; 
And  when  the  wine  cup  passes  round, 

I  toast  some  other  fair ; — 
But  when  I  ask  my  heart  the  sound, 

Thy  name  is  echoed  there. 

And  when  some  other  name  I  learn, 

And  try  to  whisper  love, 
Still  will  my  heart  to  thee  return, 

Like  the  returning  dove : 
[n  vain  !  I  never  can  forget, 

And  would  not  be  forgot ; 
F  >r  I  must  bear  the  same  regret, 

Whate'er  may  be  my  lot. 

E'en  as  the  wounded  bird  will  seek 

Its  favourite  bower  to  die ; 
Sow  lady!  I  would  hear  thee  speak, 

And  yield  my  parting  sigh. 

'Tis  said  that  absence,  &c 


singer's  own  rook.  GO 


THE  DYING  SOLDIER  TO  HIS  SWORD. 

Friend  in  the  brittle  day, 

My  father's  sword  and  mine, 
I  cast  thee  now  away, 

For  ever  thee  resign. 
The  bitter  conflict's  past, 

This  palsied  arm  doth  shrink, 
Life's  tide  is  ebbing  fast, 
My  spirits  fade  and  sink. 
Yet,  ere  I  breathe  my  last  adieu, 
I  turn  to  thee,  companion  true ; 
And  for  the  aid  thou  didst  afTord, 
I  thank  thee  well,  my  own  good  sword  ! 

Tho'  dimm'd  thy  once  bright  blade, 

With  foemcn's  blood  imSu'd, 
Thy  strength  is  undecay'd, 

Thy  courage  unsubdu'd. 
When  I  am  dead  and  gone, 

Thou'lt  gleam  again  on  high, 
Some  hand  will  bear  thee  on 

To  deeds  of  victorv. 

Yet,  ere  I  breathe,  &c. 

SAY  NOT  WOMAN'S  LOVE  IS  BOUGHT. 

O !  say  not  woman's  love  is  bought 
WTith  vain  and  empty  treasure ; 

O !  say  not  woman's  heart  is  caught 
By  every  idle  pleasure. 

When  first  her  gentle  bosom  knows 
Love's  flame,  it  wanders  never; 

Deep' in  her  heart  the  passion  glows; 
She  loves,  and  loves  for  ever. 

O !  say  not  woman's  false  as  fair  ; 

That  like  the  bee  she  ranges, 
Still  seeking  dowers  more  sweet  and  rare, 

As  fickle  fancy  changes. 


70  THE  AMERICAN 

Ah !  no  ,*  th3  love  that  first  can  warm, 
Will  leave  her  bosom  never ; 

No  second  passion  e'er  can  charm ; 
She  loves  and  loves  for  ever. 


LA  ROS£"  D' AMOUR. 

Tell  me  have  you  seen  a  toy 
Called  Love — a  little  boy? 
Armed  with  arrows — wanton — blind- 
Cruel  now  and  then  as  kind — 
If  he  be  among  ye,  say  ; 
He  is  Venus'  runaway! 

He's  near  I'm  sure — 

For  lo !  his  lure — 

La  Rose  d' Amour ! 

Wings  he  hath,  which  tho'  ye  clip, 
He  will  leap  from  lip  to  lip — 
If  by  chance  his  arrows  miss, 
He  will  shoot  ye  in  a  kiss : 
If  he  be  among  ye  say, 
He  is  Venus'  runaway ! 

He's  near,  I'm  sure — 

For  lo !  his  lure — 

La  Rose  d' Amour ! 


AND  YE  SHALL  WALK  IX  SILK  ATTIRE. 

"  And  ye  shall  walk  in  silk  attire, 

And  siller  have  to  spare ; 
Gin  ye'll  consent  to  be  my  bride, 

Nor  think  on  Donald  mair." 
Oh !  who  would  buy  a  silken  gown, 

With  a  poor  broken  heart  ? 
And  what's  to  me  a  siller  crown^ 

If  from  my  love  I  part  ? 

I  would  na'  walk  in  silk  attire, 
Nor  braid  wi'  gems  my  hair ; 


singer's  own  book.  71 

Gin  he  whose  faith  is  pledged  \vi'  mine, 

Were  wramr'd  and  grieving  sair. 
From  infancy  he  lov'd  me  still, 

And  still  my  heart  shall  prove, 
How  weel  it  can  those  vows  fulfil 

Which  first  repaid  his  love. 


HONI  SOIT  QUI  MAL  Y  PENSE. 

Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense, 

English  knights  their  motto  bear, 
Candour  claims  the  same  pretence, 

For  our  France,  and  for  our  fair ; 
Then  wherefore  frown  and  look  severely  ? 

Chase  thy  sullens,  dismal  swain, 
List  the  speech  that  flows  sincerely, 

List  and  trust,  then  smile  again. 
How  still  that  frown  of  awful  sense, 
Ah!  honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense, 
Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense ; 

English  knights  their  motto  bear, 
Candour  claims  the  same  pretence, 

For  our  France  and  for  our  fair. 

Love,  when  shrin'd  in  nobler  natures, 

Scorns  with  doubts  to  dim  its  ray, 
Shines  reveal'd  in  all  our  features, 

Clear  and  open  as  the  day ; 
Nay,  prythee  then,  your  fears  beguiling. 

Smooth  the  horrors  of  that  face  ; 
Turn  this  way,  and  simp'ring,  smiling, 

Strive  to  win  a  lady's  grace. 
How !  still  that  frown  of  awful  sense  ? 
Ah !  honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense, 

Honi  soit  qui,  &c. 


MY  NATIVE  LAND,  GOOD  NIGHT. 

Adieu  !  adieu !  my  native  shore 
Fades  o'er  the  waters  blue; 


72  THE  AMERICAN 

The  night  winds  sigh,  the  breakers  roar, 
And  shrieks  the  wild  sea-mew, 

Yon  sun  that  sets  upon  the  sea, 
We  follow  in  his  flight ; 

Farewell,  awhile,  to  him  and  thee, 
My  native  land,  good  night ! 

With  thee,  my  bark,  I'll  swiftly  go, 

Athwart  the  foaming  brine  ; 
Nor  heed  what  land  thou  bear'st  me  to, 

So  not  again  to  mine. 
Welcome,  welcome,  ye  dark-blue  waves, 

And,  when  ye  fail  my  sight. 
Welcome,  ye  deserts  and  ye  caves, — 

My  native  land,  good  night! 


THE  LANDING  OF  ROYAL  CHARLIE. 

There's  news  from  Moidart  cam'  yestreen, 

Will  soon  gar  mony  farlie, 
For  ships  of  war  hae  just  come  in, 
And  landed  Royal  Charlie ; 

Come  thro'  the  heather, 

Around  him  gither, 
Ye're  a'  the  welcomer  early ; 

Come  round  him  cling, 

Wi'  a'  yer  kin, 
For  wha'll  be  king  but  Charlie  ? 

Come  thro'  the  heather, 

Around  him  gither, 
Come  Ronald,  come  Donald, 

Come  a'  the  gither, 

An'  crown  your  rightful  lawful  king, 
For  wha'll  be  king  but  Charlie  ? 

The  highland  clans  wi'  sword  in  hand, 

Frae  John  o'  Groats  to  Airly, 
Hae  to  a  man  declar'd  to  stand 

Or  fa'  wi'  Royal  Charlie  ? 

Come  thro'  the  heather.  &c 


singer's  own  book.  73 

There's  ne'er  a  lass  in  a'  the  land, 

Hut  vows  baith  late  an'  early, 
To  man  she'll  ne'er  pie  heart  or  hand, 

Wha  wadiia  iiLrht  for  Charlie. 

Come  thro'  the  heather,  &<  . 

The  lowlands  a'  baith  great  and  sma', 

Wi'  mony  a  lord  an'  laird  hae, 
Deelar'd  for  Scotia's  king  an'  law, 

An'  speir  ye  wha  but  Charlie. 

Come  thro'  the  heather,  &c. 

Then  here's  a  health  to  Charlie's  cause. 

An*  be't  complete  an'  early, 
His  very  name  our  hearts'  blood  warms, 

To  arm  for  Royal  Charlie. 

Come  thro'  the  heather,  &c. 

HUNTSMEN'S  SONG  AND  CHORUS 

Oh!  what  can  compare  to  the  huntsman's  bold  plea- 
sure ! 
For  whom  is  the  goblet  so  rich  and  so  free  ? 
To  rise  from  the  grass  at  the  horn's  cheering  measure, 

And  follow  the  stag  thro'  the  forest  and  lea. 

Oh !  these  are  enjoyments  that  lighten  and  cheer  us, 

Give  strength  to  the  frame,  and  delight  to  the  soul  : 

When  rocks  with  their  echoes,  and  forests  are  near  us, 

More  free  sounds  the  pledge  from  the  full-flowing 

bowl. 
Yo  ho!  tral,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la. 
When  rocks  with  their  echoes,  their  echoes  are 

near  us, 
More  free  sounds  the  pledge  from  the  full-flowing 

bowl. 
Yo  ho !  tral,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la. 

Diana  at  night  shines  brilliantly  o'er  us, 

And  aids  us  with  coolness  and  shadows  by  day, 

To  chase  the  grim  wolf  from  his  covert  before  us. 
And  bring  the  wild  boar  in  his  fury  to  bay. 


74  THE  AMERICAN 

Oh !  these  are  enjoyments  that  lighten  and  cheer  us, 

Give  strength  to  the  frame,  and  delight  to  the  soul: 

When  rocks  with  their  echoes,  and  forests  are  near  us, 

More  free  sounds  the  pledge  from  the  full-flowing 

bowl. 

Ye  ho !  tral,  la,  &" 


SHE  WALKS  IN  BEAUTY. 

She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 
Of  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies; 

And  all  that's  best  of  dark  and  bright, 
Meets  in  her  aspect  and  her  eyes ; 

Thus  mellowed  to  that  tender  light, 
Which  heaven  to  gaudy  day  denies. 

One  shade  the  more,  one  ray  the  less, 
Had  half  impaired  the  nameless  grace 

Which  waves  in  every  raven  tresr, 
Or  softly  lightens  o'er  lier  face ; 

Where  thoughts,  serenely  sweet,  express 
How  pure,  how  dear  their  dwelling-place 

And  on  that  cheek,  and  o'er  that  brow, 

So  soft,  so  calm,  so  eloquent, 
The  smiles  that  win,  the  tints  that  glow, 

But  tell  of  days  in  goodness  spent  ,* 
A  mind  at  peace  with  ail  below, 

A  heart  whose  love  is  innocent 


OH!  REST  THEE,  BABE. 

Oh .'  slumber,  my  darling, 

Thy  sire  is  a  knight, 
Thy  mother's  a  lady, 

So  lovely  and  bright, 
The  hills  and  the  dales, 

From  the  towers  which  we  see, 
They  all  shall  belong, 

My  dear  infant,  to  thee. 


singer's  own  book.  75 

Oh  !  rest  thee,  babe,  rest  thee,  babe,  sleep  on  till  day , 
Oh !  rest  thee,  babe,  rest  thee,  babe,  sleep  whilst  thou 
may. 
Oh  !  rest  thee,  my  darling, 
The  time  it  shall  come, 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken 

By  trumpet  and  drum. 
Then  rest  thee,  my  darling, 

Oh  !  sleep  whilst  thou  may ; 
For  war  comes  with  manhood, 
As  light  comes  with  day. 

Oh  !  rest  thee,  babe,  &c. 

THE  TOAST  BE  DEAR  WOMAN. 

Bright  are  the  beams  of  the  morning  sky, 

And  sweet  dew  the  red  blossoms  sip ; 
But  brighter  the  glances  of  dear  woman's  eye, 

And  sweeter  the  dew  on  her  lip; 
Her  mouth  is  the  fountain  of  rapture, 

The  source  from  whence  purity  flows : 
Ah  !  who  would  not  taste  of  its  magic, 
As  the  honey-bee  drinks  from  the  rose. 
Then  the  toast,  then  the  toast  be  dear  woman, 

Let  each  breast  that  is  manly  approve ; 
Then  the  toast,  then  the  toast  be  dear  woman,  . 
A.nd  nine  cheers  to  the  girls  that  we  love ; 
Hip,  hip,  hip,  hurrah!  hip,  hip,  hip,  hurrah  ! 
Hurrrah,  hurrah,  hurrah  for  the  girls  that  we  love 

Come,  raise  the  wine-cup  to  heaven  high 

Ye  gods  on  Olympus  approve  ; 
The  ofFring  thus  mellow'd  by  woman's  bright  smile 

Outrivals  the  nectar  of  Jove ; 
Now,  drain,  drain  the  goblet  with  transport, 

The  spell  of  life's  best  joys  impart  ; 
The  cup  thus  devoted  to  woman, 

Yields  the  only  true  balm  of  the  heart 

Then  the  toast,  &c. 


6  THE    AMERICAN 


xMY  BOAT  IS  ON  THE  SHORE 

My  boat  is  on  the  shore, 
And  my  bark  is  on  the  sea ; 

But  before  I  go,  Tom  Moore, 
Here's  a  double  health  to  thee. 

Here's  a  sigh  for  those  that  love, 
And  a  smile  for  those  who  hate, 

And  whatever  sky's  above, 
Here's  a  heart  for  ev'ry  fate. 

Tho'  the  ocean  roars  around  me, 
Yet  it  still  shall  bear  me  on, 

Tho'  a  desert  should  surround  me. 
It  hath  springs  that  may  be  won. 

Wer't  the  last  drop  in  the  well, 

As  I  gasp  upon  the  brink, 
Ere  my  sinking  spirits  fell, 

'Tis  to  thee  that  I  would  drink. 

In  this  water  as  this  wine, 
The  libations  I  would  pour, 

Should  be  peace  to  thee  and  thine, 
And  a  health  to  thee,  Tom  Moore. 

THE  GASCON  VESPERS. 

Hark!  the  merry  peal  is  ringing, 

List  ye,  how  the  belis  around, 
O'er  the  Garonne's  banks  are  flinging, 

Far  and  near,  their  cheerful  sound. 
Hark  ye!  how  each  Gascon  maiden, 

To  the  rising  moon  now  sings ; 
While  with  sweets  the  night  breeze  laden, 

Wafts  their  voices  on  its  wings ; 

Haste  then,  stranger,  join  our  chorus, 
Come  then  with  oar  maidens  pray, 

Join  the  happy  group  before  us, 
Chanting  'neath  the  moonlight  ray. 


singer's  own  book.  77 

See  them,  dancing,  chant  the  pleasure 

Of  their  rustic  home  so  sweet  ; 
Changing  now  in  mournful  measure, 

Tales  of  hapless  love  repeat. 

Haste,  then,  stranger,  &c. 

THE  BROKEN  FLOWER. 

Oh !  wear  it  on  thy  breast,  my  love, 

Yet,  yet  a  little  while, 
Sweetness  is  lingering  on  its  leaves, 

TJio'  laded  be  its  smile. 
Then  for  the  sake  of  what  hath  been, 

Oh,  cast  it  not  away, 
'Twas  born  to  grace  a  summer  scene, 

A  long,  bright  golden  day,  my  love, 

A  long,  bright  golden  day. 

A  little  while  around  thee,  love, 

Its  odours  yet  shall  cling, 
Telling  that  on  thy  breast  hath  lain, 

A  sweet,  tho'  blighted  thing. 
But  not  e'en  that  warm  heart  hath  pow'r, 

To  win  it  back  from  fate : 
Oh!  I  am  like  this  broken  flow'r, 

Cherish'd  too  late,  too  late,  my  love, 

Cherish'd,  alas,  too  late. 


GLIDE  OX,  MY  BARK. 

Glide  on,  my  bark ;  the  summer's  tide 
Is  gently  flowing  to  thy  side ; 
Around  thy  prow,  the  waters  bright, 
In  circling  rounds  of  broken  light, 
Are  glitt'ring,  as  if  ocean  gave 
Her  countless  gems  to  deck  the  wave ; 
Whilst  moon-light  shines  like  mimic  day- 
Glide  on,  my  bark,  thy  moon-lit  way. 


78 


THE   AMERICAN 


Glide  on,  my  bark!  how  sweet  to  rove, 
With  such  a  beaming  sky  above, 
O'er  the  dark  sea,  whose  murmurs  seem, 
Like  fairy  music  in  a  dream ; 
No  sound  is  heard  to  break  the  spell, 
Except  the  water's  gentle  swell ; 
Whilst  midnight,  like  a  mimic  day, 
Shines  on,  to  guide  our  moon-lit  way. 

THE  RAY  THAT  BEAMS  FOREVER 

Composed  by  M.  Kelly. 

There  is  a  bloom  that  never  fades, 
A  Rose  no  storms  can  sever, 

Beyond  the  Tulip's  gaudy  shades, 
The  ray  that  beams  for  ever. 

There  is  a  charm  surpassing  art, 

A  charm  in  every  feature, 
That  twines  around  the  feeling  heart, 

It  is  thy  voice,  oh  Nature ! 

Then,  stranger,  if  thou  fain  wouldst  find 
This  Rose  no  storm  can  se\  er, 

Go  seek  it,  stranger,  in  the  Mind — 
The  ray  that  beams  forever. 

THE  KISS. 
Words  by  Byron. — Music  by  Nathan. 

The  kiss,  dear  maid,  thy  lips  have  left, 

Shall  never  part  from  mine, 
Till  happier  hours  restore  the  gift 

Untainted  back  to  thine. 
The  parting  glance  that  fondly  gleams, 

An  equal  love  may  see, 
The  tear  that  from  the  eyelid  streams 

Can  weep  rto  change  in  me. 

The  kiss,  &c. 

I  ask  no  pledge  to  make  me  blest, 
in  gazing  when  alone ; 


singer's  own  book.  79 

Nor  one  memorial  for  a  breast, 
Whose  thoughts  are  all  thine  own. 

By  day  or  night,  in  weal  or  woe, 
That  heart  no  longer  free, 

Must  bear  the  love  it  cannot  show. 
And  silent  ache  for  thee. 

The  kiss,  &c. 

THE  LILY  OF  FRANCE. 

Let  the  banner  of  France  be  unfurl'd, 

Fair  and  bright  as  the  forehead  of  day, 
Tho'  defiance  it  bade  to  the  world, 

Her  knighthood  would  spring  to  the  fray; 
Like  shaft  from  the  cross-bow  that  bounds, 

Speeds  each  youth,  gaily  couching  his  lance 
And  through  legions  one  war-cry  resounds, 

'  I  fight  lor  the  lily  of  France !' 

My  faith  proudly  vouch'd  by  my  blood, 

Let  fate  strike  me  young  on  my  bier, 
I'd  smile  upon  life's  ebbing  flood, 

If  enrich'd  but  by  woman's  fond  tear. 
Form  of  beauty,  beam  thou  o'er  my  side, 

And  Death  should  like  triumph  advance, 
Oh,  glory !  Oh,  soul-cheering  pride — 

*  I  die  for  the  lily  of  France !' 

THE  HARP  THAT  ONCE  THRO'  TARA'S 

HALLS. 

Air,—  Gramachree. 

The  harp  that  once  thro'  Tara's  halls, 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara's  walls 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled. 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  fonner  days, 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er; 
And  hearts  that  once  beat  high  for  praise 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more 


80  THE  AMERICAN 

No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright, 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells  ; 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night, 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes ; 

The  only  throb  she  gives, 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks, 

To  show  that  still  she  lives. 

THE  TROUBADOUR. 

Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

A  Troubadour,  that  hated  sorrow, 
Beneath  his  lady's  window  came, 

And  thus  he  su.ig  his  last  good-morrow  :- 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  true-love's  bower ; 
Gaily  for  love  and  lame  to  fight, 

Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour." 

And  while  he  march'd,  with  helm  on  head 

And  harp  in  hand,  the  descant  rung, 
As  faithful  to  his  favourite  maid, 

The  minstrel-burthen  still  he  sung ; 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower ; 
Resolved  for  love  and  fame  to  fight, 

I  come,  a  gallant  Troubadour." 

Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep 

With  dauntless  heart  he  hew'd  his  way, 
Mid  splintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 

And  still  was  heard  his  warrior  lay  ; 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  m  my  lady's  bower  ; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight, 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

Alas!  upon  the  bloody  field 
He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive, 

But  still,  reclining  on  his  shield, 
Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave: 


singer's  own  book.  81 

"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

!y  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower; 
For  love  and  fame  "to  fall  in  fight 
Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

THE  BONNY  BOAT. 

Oil  swiftly  glides  the  bonny  boat, 

Just  parted  from  the  shore, 
And  to  the  fishers'  chorus  note, 
the  dipping  oar ; 
Their  toils  are  borne  with  happy  cheer, 

And  ever  may  they  speed, 
That  feeble  age,  and  helpmate  dear, 

And  tender  bairnies  feed. 

We  cast  our  lines  in  Largo  bay, 

Our  nets  are  floating  wide, 
Our  bonny  boat  with  yielding  sway 

Rocks  lightly  on  the  tide  ; 
And  happy  prove  its  daily  lot 

Upon  the  summer  sea, 
And  blest  on  land  our  kindly  cot, 

Where  ail  our  treasures  be. 

We  cast  our  lines  in  Largo  bay,  &c. 

The  mermaid  on  her  rock  may  sing, 

The  witch  may  weave  her  charm, 
But  water  sprite  nor  eldrich  thing 

The  bonny  boat  can  harm ; 
It  safely  bears  its  scaly  store 

Through  many  a  stormy  gale, 
While  joyful  shouts  rise  from  the  shore, 

Its  homeward  prow  to  hail. 

We  cast  our  lines  in  Largo  bay,  &c 

TOLL  NOT  THE  BELL  OF  DEATH  FOR  ME. 

Toll  not  the  bell  of  death  for  me, 

When  I  am  dead  : 
Strew  not  the  flowery  wreath  o'er  me. 

On  mv  cold  bed. 
F 


82  THE    AMERICA* 

Let  friendship's  sacred  tear, 
On  my  fresh  grave  appear, 
Gemming  with  pearls  my  bier — 
When  I  am  dead. 
No  dazzling  proud  array 
Of  pageantry  display, 

My  fate  to  spread. 

Let  not  the  busy  crowd  be  near 

When  I  am  dead, 
Fanning  with  unfelt  sighs  my  bier, 

Sighs  quickly  sped. 
Deep  let  the  impression  rest 
On  some  fond  female  breast ; 
Then  were  my  memory  blest 

When  I  am  dead. 
Let  not  the  day  be  writ ; 
Love  will  remember  it, 

Untold — unsaid 


THE  SOLDIER'S  LAST  SIGH. 

Written  by  E.  L>  Bellchambers. — Music  by 
G.  A.  Hod  son. 

The  trumpet  may  summon  thy  soldier  away, 

And  3pur  his  proud  spirit  to  arms, 
Yet  warm  with  the  vigour  that  bids  him  away, 

He  grieves  to  abandon  thy  charms ; 
Tho'  glory  invite  him,  and  splendor  abound, 

Yet  mark,  dearest  maid,  his  decree, 
Subdued  by  defeat,  or  by  victory  crown'd,. 

The  soldier's  last  sigh,  is  for  thee. 

But  hark  !  'tis  the  trumpet  now  speaks  his  adieu, 
And  calls  him  from  lave  to  renown, 

Then  oh !  dearest  maiden,  believe  his  heart  true, 
Tho'  fortune  may  smile  or  may  frown i 
Tho'  glory  invite  him,  &c. 


singer's  own  book.  83 


THE  PILOT. 

Oh,  Pilot!  'tis  a  fearful  night, 

There's  danger  on  the  deep, 
I'll  come  and  pace  the  deck  with  thee, 

I  do  not  dare  to  sleep. 
Go  down !  the  sailor  cried,  go  down, 

This  is  no  place  for  thee ; 
Fear  not!  but  trust  in  Providence, 

Wherever  thou  mayst  be. 

Ah '.  pilot,  dangers  often  met, 

We  all  are  apt  to  slight, 
And  thou  hast  known  These  raging  waves 

But  to  subdue  their  might. 
It  is  not  apathy,  he  cried, 

That  gives  this  strength  to  me: 
Fear  not !  but  trust  in  Providence, 

Wherever  thou  may's!  be. 

On  such  a  night  the  sea  engulph'd 

My  Father's  lifeless  form  ; 
My  only  brother's  boat  went  down 

In  just  so  wild  a  storm  ; 
And  such,  perhaps,  may  be  my  fate, — 

But  still  I  say  to  thee, 
Fear  not!  but  trust  in  Providence, 

Wherever  thou  mayst  be. 

DIAVOLO. 

On  yonder  rock  reclining, 
That  fierce  and  swarthy  form  behold! 
Fast  his  hands  his  carbine  hold — 
'Tis  his  best  friend  of  old ! 

This  way  his  steps  inclining, 
His  scarlet  plume  waves  o'er  his  brow, 
And  his  velvet  cloak  hangs  low, 
Playing  in  graceful  flow  I 


84  THE    AMERICAN 


Tremble!  E'en  while  the  storm  is  beating, 
Afar  hear  echo  repeating, 
Diavolo!  Diavoio!  Diavolo! 

"  Altho'  his  foes  waylaying, 
He  fights  with  rage  and  hate  combin'd  ; 
Towards  the  gentle  fair  they  find 
He's  ever  mild  and  kind  : 

The  maid  too  heedless  straying. 
(For  one,  we  Pietro's  daughter  know,) 
Home  returns  full  sad  and  slow, 
What  can  have  made  her  so? 
Tremble !  Each  one  the  maiden  meeting, 
Is  sure  to  be  repeating, 

Diavolo!  Diavolo!  Diavolo! 

Perchance  all  are  mistaken, 
Dear  maid,  in  what  they  tell  to  you , 
And  whate'er  is  lost  'tis  true 
He  may  have  stolen  too. 
Suspicions  oft  awaken, 
As  many  a  guiltless  swain  may  know ; 
While  he  alone  who  caused  tneir  woe 
Passes  incognito — 
Tremble !  For  in  this  sighing  lover 
Each  eye  may  surely  discover, 

Diavolo!  Diavolo!  Diavolo! 

HERE'S  A  HEALTH,  BONNIE  SCOTLAND, 

TO  THEE. 

Here's  a  health  to  fair  Scotland,  the  land  of  the  brave, 

Here's  a  health  to  the  bold  and  the  free, 
And  as  long  as  the  thistle  and  heather  shall  wave, 

Here's  a  health,  bonnie  Scotland,  to  thee. 
Here's  to  the  land  of  victorious  Bruce, 

And  the  champions  of  liberty's  cause, 
And  may  their  example  fresh  heroes  produce, 

In  defence  of  our  rights  and  our  laws. 

Here's  a  health,  &c. 


singer's  own  book.  85 

(lore's  a  health  to  the  land  where  brave  Wallace 
unfuri'd 

His  bright  banner  of  conquest  and  fame, 
The  terror  of  fberaen,  the  pride  ot  the  world; 

Long  may  Scotland  hold  clearly  ids  name. 
And  still  like  their  fathers,  our  brothers  are  true, 

And  their  valour  with  pleasure  we  see, 
Of  the  wreaths  that  were  won  at  rcnown'd  Waterloo, 

Here's  a  bough  of  the  laurel  for  thee. 

Here's  a  health,  &c. 

Here's  success  to  the  land  where  fair  liberty  grows 

May  her  sons  still  in  harmony  twine, 
And  should  wily  discord  again  interpose, 

Let  us  challenge  each  other  in  wine. 
For  while  we're  united,  foes  threaten  in  vain  ; 

And  their  daring,  our  fame  shall  increase, 
Till  the  banner  of  victory,  o'er  land  and  main, 

Triumphant  is  waving  in  peace. 

Then  here's  a  health,  &c 

AWAY,  MY  BOUNDING  STEED,  AWAY 

Away,  my  bounding  steed,  away, 

I  ride  for  princely  halls ; 
Aye,  paw  the  ground  and  proudly  neigh, 

The  tourney  trumpet  calls. 

Nay  spur  and  speed,  thou  gallant  knight, 

Or  lose  the  meed  of  fame ; 
Vouch  in  the  lists  thy  lady's  right, 

And  conquer  in  her  name. 

The  challenge  breath'd,  I  cast  my  glove  ; 

All  rivals  thus  I  dare ; 
In  arms  I'll  prove  my  lady-love 

The  fairest  of  the  fair. 

Now  poise  the  temper'd  lance  on  high- 
It  shivers  on  my  shield — 

Then  forth  two  flashing  rapiers  fly, 
And  skill  decides  the  field. 


86  THE  AMERICAN 

The  joust  is  done,  the  prize  is  won, 
And  merry  is  the  victor's  eye ; 

Pass  wine-cups  round,  while  clarions  sound 
The  joys  of  love  and  chivalry. 


COME,  LOVE,  TO  ME. 

Oh !  sweetly  trie  noon  day  is  ending; 

Evening  now  sending 

Charms  o'er  the  sea. 

'Neath  the  window 

I  would  hear  thee 

Singing  near  me, 

Come,  love,  to  me. 

Oh  !  sweetly  the  night  stars  are  weeping; 

All  are  now  sleeping 

O'er  wave  and  o'er  lea. 

From  the  mountain, 

Sure  1  hear  thee 

Singing  near  me, 

Come,  love,  to  me. 

Oh !  darker  the  night  is  growing, 

Deeper  throwing 

Shades  soon  to  flee 

Now  I  see  thee, 

Now  I  hear  thee 

Singing  near  me, 

Come,  love,  to  me. 


THE  LIGHT  GUITAR. 

Sung  by  Madame  Feron. 

Oh !  leave  the  gay  and  festive  scene, 
The  halls,  lhe  halls  of  dazzling  light, 

And  rove  with  me  through  forests  green 
Beneath  the  silent  night. 


singer's  own  book.  87 

Then  as  we  watch  the  ling'ring  rays 

That  shine  from  every  stat, 
I'll  nng  the  song  of  happier  days, 

And  ■tlike  die  light  guitar. 

I'll  tell  thee  how  the  maiden  wept, 

When  her  true  knight  was  slain; 
And  how  her  broken  spirit  slept, 

And  never  woke  again. 
I'll  teU  thee  how  the  steed  drew  nigh, 

And  left  bis  lord  afar, 
But  if  my  tale  should  make  tliee  sigh, 

I'll  strike  the  light  guitar. 


ANSWER  TO  -THE  LIGHT  GUITAR 

Yes !  I  will  leave  the  festive  scene, 

The  gay  and  courtly  throng, 
To  wander  through  the  forests  green, 

And  listen  to  thv  sons:. 
T^he  waters  like  a  mirror  seem, 

For  every  beaming  star,* 
"^hen  haste  to  yonder  silent  stream 

And  strike  the  light  guitar. 

And  when  thou  te.H'st  of  one,  whose  tears 
Were  shed  for  her  true  knight, 

Bethink  thee,  of  thy  maiden's  fears 
_  When  thou  wert  in  the  light — 

Nor  longer  brave  the  battle  plain, 
Nor  roam  from  me  afar. 

But  sing  hope's  long  forgotten  strain. 
And  strike  the  light  guitar. 


MALTESE  BOATMAN'S  SONG. 

ftee,  brothers,  see,  how  the  night  comes  on, 
Slowly  sinks  the  setting  sun, 

(Convent  1>ett)  Hark !  how  the  solemn  vespers  soured 
Sweetly  ialls  upon  the  ear- 


THE  AMERICAN 


Then  haste,  let  us  work  till  the  daylight  is  o'er, 

And  fold  our  net  as  we  row  to  the  shore — 

Our  toil  of  labour  being  o'er, 

How  sweet  the  boatman's  welcome  home ! 
Home,  home,  home!  the  boatman's  welcome  home! 
Sweet !  oh,  sweet !  the  boatman's  welcome  home  I 

See,  how  the  tints  of  daylight  die, 

Soon  we'll  hear  the  tender  sigh  ; 

For  when  the  toil  of  labour's  o'er, 

We  shall  meet  our  friends  on  shore. 
Then  haste,  let  us  work  till  the  daylight  is  o*er, 
And  fold  our  nets  as  we  row  to  the  shore  ; 
For  fame  or  gold  howe'er  we  roam, 
No  sound  so  sweet  as  welcome  home! 

Home,  home  &c.  &c. 


WE  MET! 

We  met !  'twas  in  a  crowd,  and  I  thought  he  would 

shun  me ; 
He  came !  I  could  not  breathe,  for  his  eye  was  upon 

me! 
He  spoke !  his  words  were  cold,  and  his  smile  was 

unalter'd ; 
I  knew  how  much  he  felt,  for  his  deep-toned  voice 

falter'd. 
I  wore  my  bridal  robe,  and  I  rivalled  its  whiteness ; 
Bright  gems  were  in  my  hair,  how  I  hated  their 

brightness ! 
He  call'd  me  by  my  name,  as  the  bride  of  another; 
Oh !  thou  hast  been  the  cause  of  this  anguish — my 

mother ! 

And  once  again  we  met,  and  a  fair  girl  was  near  him ; 
He  smil'd  and  whisper'd  low,  as  I  once  used  to  hear 

him; 
She  leant  upon  his  arm — once  'twas  mine  and  mine 

only ! 
I  wept ! — for  I  deserv'd  to  feel  wretched  and  lonely 


singer's  own  rook.  89 

And  she  will  bo  his  bride!  fit  the  altar,  he'll  eiye  her 
The  love  that  was  Uh)  pure  for  a  heartless  deceiver. 
The   world  may  think  me  gay,  for  my  feelings  1 

smother; 
Oh !  thou  hast  been  the  cause  of  this  anguish — my 

mother ! 


BE  MINE,  DEAR  MAID. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Be  mine,  dear  maid,  this  faithful  heart 

Can  never  prove  untrue  ; 
Twere  easier  far  with  life  to  part, 

Than  cease  to  live  for  you. 
My  soul,  gone  forth  from  this  lone  breast, 

Lives  only,  love,  in  thine; 

There  is  its  holy  home  of  rest, 

Its  dear,  its  chosen  shrine. 

Then  turn  thee  not  away,  my  dear 

Oh,  turn  thee  not  away,  love ; 
For  by  the  light  of  truth  I  swear, 
To  love  thee  night  and  day,  love 

Tis  not  mine  eye  thy  beauty  loves, 

Mine  ear  thy  tuneful  voice; 
But  'tis  my  heart  thy  heart  approves, 

A  life-enduring  choice. 
The  lark  shall  first  forget  to  sing, 

When  morn  unfolds  the  east, 
Ere  I  by  change  or  coldness  wring 

Thy  fond  confiding  breast. 

Then  turn,  &c. 


f  SEE  THEM  ON  THEIR  WINDING  WAY. 

I -see  them  on  their  winding  way, 
About  their  ranks  the  moonbeams  play; 
Their  lofty  deeds,  and  daring  high, 
Blend  with  the  notes  of  victory ; 


90  THE  AMERICAN 

And  waving  arms,  and  banners  bright, 
Are  glancing  in  the  mellow  light. 
They're  lost  and  gone — the  moon  is  past, 
The  wood's  dark  shade  is  o'er  them  cast, 
And  fainter,  fainter,  fainter  -still, 
The  march  is  rising  o'er  the  hill. 

I  see  them,  &c.  &c 

Again,  again,  the  pealing  drum. 
The  clashing  horn — they  come,  they  come, 
Through  rocky  pass,  o'er  wooded  steep, 
In  long  and  glittering  files  they  sweep.; 
And  nearer,  nearer,  yet  more  near, 
Their  soften'd  chorus  meets  the  ear. 
Forth,  forth,  and  meet  them  on  their  way, 
The  trampling  hoofs  brook  no  delay; 
With  thrilling  fife,  and  pealing  drum, 
And  clashing  horn — they  come,  they  come. 

I  .see  them,  &e.  &c. 

I  SHOULD  VERY  MUCH  LIKE  TO  KNOW 

Sung  by  Miss  Love* 

As  I  walked  last  night, 
In  the  dim  twilight, 
Some  one  whisper'd  soft  and  low, 
Whisper'd  soft  and  low ; 
**  What  pretty  girl  is  she  ? 
I  wish  she  would  fancy  me." 
Now  whoever  this  could  be, 
I  should  very  much  like  to  know, 
I  should  very,  &a 

Last  Valentine's  day, 

Came  a  letter  so  gay, 

With  hearts  above,  around  and  below. 

With  hearts  above  and  below. 

M  Oh !  I  love  you,  dearest  maid, 

But  to  tell  you  I'm  afraid." 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know, 

i"  should  very  much  like  to  know. 


ixger'r  own  book.  01 

Whoever  il  was  raid  so, 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know, 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know. 

A  gipsy  in  the  wood 

Said,  she'd  tell  me  something  good, 

For  his  name  began  with  an  O, 

His  name  began  with  an  O, 

And  he'd  surely  marry  me, 

For  it  was  his  destiny. 

Now  whoever  this  can  be, 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know, 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know, 

Whose  name  it  begins  with  an  O, 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know, 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know. 


THE  HAPPY  SWISS  BOY. 

Come  over  the  mountains,  my  bonny  Swiss  boy, 
And  haste  to  thy  labour  away. 

Come  over,  &e. 

And  haste,  &c. 
The  sun  now  shows  his  rosy  beams, 
The  flocks  are  hasting  to  the  streams, 

Come  over,  &c. 

And  haste,  &c. 

You  will  find  me,  you'll  find  me  a  happy  Swiss  bov 
As  I  trip  o'er  the  hills,  far  away, 

You  will  find,  &c. 

As  I  trip,  &c. 
And  while  I  watch  my  flocks  and  herds, 
And  listen  to  the  warbling  birds, 

You  will  find,  &c. 

As  I  trip,  &c. 


92  THE  AMERICAN 


A  SOLDIER'S  GRATITUDE. 

Whate'er  mv  fate,  where'er  I  roam. 

By  sorrow  still  oppress'd, 
I'll  ne'er  forget  the  peaceful  home 

That  gave  the  wanderer  rest. 
Then  ever  rove  life's  sunny  banks, 

By  sweetest  flow'rets  strew'd  ; 
Still  may  you  claim  a  soldier's  thanks, 

A  soldier's  gratitude. 

The  tender  sigh,  the  balmy  tear, 

That  meek-eyed  pity  gave, 
My  last  expiring  hour  shall  cheer, 

And  bless  the  wanderer's  grave. 

Then  ever  rove,  &c. 


ROSABEL. 

Wake !  maiden,  wake !  the  moon  is  benighted, 

Come,  then,  and  rove  with  me : 
There,  on  the  spot  w?iere  our  hearts  we  first  plighted, 

Let  our  last  adieu  be. 

Rosabel,  Rosabel,  Rosabel,  Ah  me ! 

There,  oft  my  eyes  on  thy  smiles  have  delighted, 
And  there  would  take  leave  of  thee. 
Oh !  smile,  though  thou  smilest  in  sorrow. 
Far  from  thee  shall  I  be  on  the  morrow ! 

Rosabel,  Rosabel,  Rosabel,  Ah  me ! 


BUY  MY  ROSES. 

Come,  buy  my  little  roses  red, 
Come,  buy  my  roses  red ; 
Born  and  nurs'd  in  Cupid's  bed, 
Nurs'd  in  Cupid's  bed. 


singer's  own  book.  93 

Cupid,  little  god  of  love, 
Wand'ring  through  the  rosy  grove, 
Met  and  wod'd  me,  ah,  'tis  true, 
Then  pity,  while  I  ehaunt  to  you. 

Come  buy  my  roses  red, 

Come  buy  my  roses  red, 

Born  and  nurs'd  in  Cupid's  bed, 

Come  buy  my  roses  red. 

There  is  a  tear  on  yonder  leaf, 

A  tear  on  yonder  leaf, 

I/we  fain  would  mark  for  maiden's  grief, 

Would  mark  for  maiden's  grief; 

For  sure  when  rosy  morn  appears, 

It  melts  as  do  my  lover's  fears  : 

Thus  Cupid  wept  for  me,  'tis  true, 

Then  pity  while  I  ehaunt  to  you. 

Come  buy  my  roses,  &c.  &c.  &c 

CHERRY  RIPE. 

Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  I  cry, 
Full  and  fair  ones,  come  and  buy. 
If  so  be  you  ask  me  where 
They  do  grow,  I  answer,  There, 
Where  my  Julia's  lips  do  smile, 
There's  the  land,  or  cherry  isle. 

Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  I  cry, 

Full  and  fair  ones,  come  and  buy  ; 

There  plantations,  fully  show, 

All  the  year,  where  cherries  grow. 

Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  I  cry, 

Full  and  fair  ones,  come  and  buy. 

GOOD  NIGHT. 

Give  me,  my  love,  before  we  part, 

One  tender  kiss  of  dear  delight ; 
And  all  the  friendship  we  have  sworn, 

Confirm  in  this  our  last  Good  night. 


94  THE  AMERICAN 

Now,  on  yon  soft  and  swelling  main, 
My  little  bark,  so  gay  and  light, 

Prepares  to  tear  me  from  thy  breast, 
My  life,  my  love,  Good  night! 

And  when  on  lone  and  distant  shores 
I  wander,  by  the  moon's  pale  light, 

In  rncm'ry  of  our  former  loves, 

I  think  on  thee,  and  this  Good  night. 

OH !  AM  I  THEN  REMEMBERED. 

Oh !  am  I  then  remembered  still  ? 

Remembered  too  by  thee ! 
Or  am  I  quite  forgot  by  one 

Whom  I  no  more  shall  see  ? 
Yet  say  not  so,  for  that  would  add 

Fresh  anguish  to  my  lot. 
I  dare  not  hope  to  be  recall'd — 

Yet  would  not  be  forgot 

Had  they  who  parted  us  but  known 

How  hearts  like  ours  can  feel, 
They  would  have  spared  us  both  a  pang 

Beyond  their  power  to  heal. 
I  know  not  if  thy  heart  retains 

Its  wonted  warmth  or  not : 
Though  I'm  forbid  to  think  of  thee — 

Thou'lt  never  be  forgot. 

May'st  thou  enjoy  that  peace  of  mind* 

Which  I  can  never  know ; 
If  that's  denied,  my  prayer  shall  be, 

That  I  may  share  thy  wo. 
Where'er  thou  art,  my  every  wish 

Will  linger  o'er  that  spot ; 
My  every  thought  will  be  of  thee, 

Though  I  may  be  forgot. 


If  we  should  meet  in  after  years, 
Thou'lt  find  that  I  am  changed : 


si\<;nitrs  own  book.  95 

Mv  eyes  grown  dim,  my  cheek  grown  pale, 

fent  not  my  faith  estranged. 
From  memory'  e  the  hand  of  death 

Alone  thy  Dame  ^l»;ill  blot ; 
Forget,  forsake  mo,  if  thou  wilt — 

Thou'll  never  be  forgot. 


PRETTY  MOCKING  BIRD. 

living  echo,  bird  of  eve, 

Hush  thy  walling,  cease  to  grieve; 

Feather'd  warbler,  wake  the  grove, 

To  songs  of  joy.  to  notes  of  love : 

Pretty  mocking  bird,  thy  form  I  see 

Swinging  with  the  breeze  on  the  mangrove  tree. 


THE    ORIGIN     OF    OLD    BACHELORS,    OR 
WHAT'S  AN  OLD  BACHELOR  LIKE  ? 

Dame  Nature  one  day,  in  a  comical  mood, 

While  mixing  the  mould  to  make  man, 
Was  struck  with  a  thought  as  the  ingredients  she 
view'd, 
To  alter  a  little  her  plan. 
Her  children  she  knew,  were  much  given  to  rove 

So  temp'ring  the  clay  with  great  art, 
She  sparingly  threw  in  the  soft  seeds  of  love, 
That  usually  spring  round  the  heart, — 
But  she  quickly  repented,  though  too  late  it  is  true. 
For  a  fusty  old  bachelor  stood  lbrth  to  view ; 
Yes,  an  old  bachelor,  a  fusty  old  bachelor. 
What's  an  old  bachelor  like  ?  why, 
I'll  tell  you   -an  old  bachelor  is  like — is  like — 
A  tree  without  a  branch, 
A  buck  without  a  haunch, 
A  knife  without  a  fork, 
A  bottle  without  a  cork, 
A  key  without  a  lock, 
A  wig  without  a  block. 


96  THE  AMERICAN 

Thus  you  see,  my  good  friends,  what  a  whimsical 

creature 
Was  form'd  in  a  frolic,  by  old  madam  Nature. 

The  world  ever  since  has  been  teased  by  these 
creatures, 
Well  known  by  their  stiffs  formal  strut ; 
Their  dull,  down  cast  look,  crabbed,  vinegar  fea- 
tures, 
And  dress  of  true  bachelor  cut 
The  bright  blaze  of  beauty  can't  warm  their  old 
clay  : 
Disliked  by  maid,  widow  and  wife, 
In  a  kind  of  half  stupour,  the  days  pass  away 
Of  these  blanks  in  the  lottery  of  life. 
Thus  curtail'd  of  pleasure — a  stranger  to  love, 
The  fusty  old  bachelor's  destined  to  rove  : 
Yes,  the  old  bachelor,  the  fusty  old  bachelor. 
What's  an  old  bachelor  like  ?  why, 
A  ship  without  a  sail, 
A  cat  without  a  tail, 
Cellar  without  the  wine  O, 
Purse  without  the  rhino, 
A  watch  without  a  chain, 
A  skull  without  the  brain. 

Thus  you  see,  &c  &c.  &c.  &c. 

Now  mark !  if  the  sexes  in  number  agree, 

As  some  queer  philosophers  think 
(Full  many  a  damsel's  soft  heart  I  foresee, 

At  this  part  of  my  story  would  sink) ; 
As  two  wives  at  once  men  are  here  not  allowed 

Unless  their  suit  parliament  aids; 
And  as  bachelors  stupid  our  streets  daily  crowd, 
It  follows — there  must  be  old  maids. 
Thus  we  get  from  the  smoke  nearly  into  the  smother, 
For  one  evil  treads  fast  on  the  heels  of  another. 
Oh !  fie  on  all  bachelors !  all  flinty-hearted  bachelors! 
What's  an  old  bachelor  like  ?  why, 
A  bell  without  a  clapper, 
A  door  without  a  rapper, 


singer's  own  book.  97 

A  drum  without  a  fife, 
Butcher  without  a  knife, 
Sun  without  the  moon, 

Dish  without  the  swoon. 

Thus  you  see,  &c.  &.c.  &c.  &c. 


PRAY,  GOODY. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Pray,  Goody,  please  to  moderate  the  rancour  of  your 
tongue, 
Why  flub  those  sparks  of  fury  from  your  eyes  ? 
Remember,  when  the  judgment's  weak,  the  prejudice 
is  strong, 
A  stranger  why  will  you  despise  ? 
Ply  me,  try  me, 
Prove,  ere  you  deny  me, 
If  you  cast  me  off  you  blast  me,  never  more  to  rise ! 

Pray,  Goody,  &c. 

EVEN  AS  THE  SUN. 

Even  as  the  sun — the  sun  wi'  purple  coloured  face 
Had  ta'en  his  last  leave — his  last  leave  of  the  weep- 
ing morn  ; 

Had  ta'en  his  last  leave,  &c. 
Whilst  Venus'  anthem  still  concludes  in  woe, 
And  still  the  choir  of  echoes  answer  so. 

And  still,  &c. 

Even  as  the  sun — the  sun  wi'  purple  coloured  face, 
Had  ta'en  his  last  leave — his  last  leave  of  the  weep 

ing  morn  : 
Rose-cheeked  Adonis  hied  him  to  the  chase — 
Hunting  he  loved,  but  love  he  laugh 'd  to  scorn- 
Even  as  the  sun,  &c. 

G 


93  THE  AMERICAN 

MARIAN  RAMSAY. 

Sung  by  Mrs  Knight. 

I  am  Marian  Ramsay,  from  Scotland  I  come — 

All  adown  the  green  vale,  where  the  violets  are 

springing, 
And  much  I  should  grieve  from  dear  Scotland  to  part, 
But  I'm  come  to  the  south,  sir,  to  get  a  sweetheart, 
With  my  fal,  la,  la,  la,  v/hile  the  birds  are  a  singing 

They  say,  that  my  relation  is  a  mighty  odd  man, 
All  away  from  the  dale  where  the  violets  are  spring 

Tis  you,  sir,  I'm  sure,  for  the  truth  to  reveal, 
As  we  say  in  the  north,  you're  a  comical  chieL 

With  my  fal,  la,  &c. 

So  get  me  a  sweetheart,  and  bid  me  good  bye, 
All  away  to  the  dale  where  the  violets  are  springing 
If  the  bonnie  lad's  willing,  I'm  now  in  my  prime, 
And  sure  'tis  a  pity  to  lose  any  time. 

With  my  fal,  la,  &c. 

THE  MOUNTAIN  MAID 

The  mountain  maid  from  her  bower  has  hied, 

And  sped  to  the  glassy  river's  side,. 

Wriere  the  radiant  moon  shone  clear  and  bright,. 

And  the  willows  waved  in  the  silver  light; 

On  a  mossy  bank  lay  a  shepherd  swain, 

He  woke  his  pipe  to  a  tuneful  strain, 

And  so  blithely  gay  were  the  notes  he  play'd, 

That  he  charm'd  the  ear  of  the  mountain  maid. 

She  siopp'd,  with  timid  fear  oppress'd, 
While  a  soft  sigh  swells  her  gentle  breast, 
He  caught  her  glance  and  mark'd  her  sigh*. 
And  triumph  laugh'd  in  his  sparkling  eye* 


sinoer's  own  book.  90 

So  softly  sweet  was  his  tuneful  ditty, 

He  charm'd  her  tender  soul  to  pity, 

And  so  blithely  gay  were  the  notes  he  play'd, 

That  he  gain'd  the  heart  of  the  mountain  maid. 

BRUCE'S  ADDRESS. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sbiclair. 

Scots,  wha  hae  w  i'  Wallace  bled 
Scots,  wham  Bruce  has  aften  led ! 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 

Or  to  glorious  victory! 
Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour! 
See  the  front  of  battle  lower! 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power! 

Edward  !  chains  and  slavery ! 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave  ? 
Wha  would  (111  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave  ? 

Traitor !  coward  !  turn  and  flee. 
Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw 
Freeman  stand,  or  freeman  tal 

Caledonian!  on  wi'  me! 

By  oppression's  woes  and  pains ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall  be,  shall  be  free ! 
Lay  the  proud  usurpers  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow! 

Forward !  let  us  do,  or  die ! 

THOU  ART  GONE  AWA. 

Thou  art  gone  awa,  thou'rt  gone  aw  a, 

Thou'rt  gone  awa  from  me,  Mary ; 
Nor  friends  nor  I  could  make  thee  stay ; 

Thou  hast  cheated  them  and  me.  M»rv 


100  THE  AMERICAN 

Until  this  hour  I  never  thought, 
That  aught  could  alter  thee,  Mary; 

Thou  art  still  the  mistress  of  my  heart, 
Think  what  thou  wilt  of  me,  Mary. 

Whate'er  he  said,  or  might  pretend, 

That  stole  that  heart  of  thine,  Mary; 
Truw  love,  I'm  sure,  was  ne'er  his  end, 

Or  no  such  love  as  mine,  Mary. 
I  spoke  sincere,  nor  flatter'd  much ; 

Had  no  unworthy  thoughts,  Mary ; 
Ambition,  wealth,  nor  neathin'  such; 

I  loved  thee  for  thyself,  Mary. 

Though  you've  been  false,  yet  whilst  I  live. 

No  other  maid  I'll  woo,  Mary; 
Till  friends  forget,  and  I  forgive, 

Thy  wrongs  to  them,  and  me,  Mary 
So  then,  farewell !  of  this,  be  sure, 

Since  you've  been  false  to  me,  Mary ; 
For  all  the  world  I'd  not  endure, 

The  half  I've  done  for  thee,  Mary! 


LOVE  FROM  THE  HEART 

Sung  by  Madame  Vesfris. 

Yes,  I  will  leave  my  father's  halls 

To  roam  along  with  thee ; 
Adieu,  adieu,  my  native  walls, 

To  other  scenes  I  flee. 
Yes,  we  will  seek  the  silent  glade, 

When  we  have  stray'd  afar, 
And  you  shall  play,  my  dearest  maid, 

Songs  on  your  light  guitar. 

Love,  gentle  love,  shall  be  our  guide 

To  a  far  distant  land, 
And  whether  bliss  or  wo  betide, 

This  heart  you  shall  command. 


singer's  own  book.  101 


I'll  tell  you  tiles  of  olden  years — 

Of  hapless  love  or  war; 
But  should  they  cause  you  pearly  tears, 

Then  sound  the  gay  guitar. 

CHUNDAH'S  SONG. 

A  heart  that  once  has  loved  like  mine, 

No  other  love  can  know ! 
A  heart  that  once  has  throbb'd  with  thine, 

Must  other  love  forego. 

One  dear  embrace,  and  then  we  part, 

We  part  to  meet  no  more ; 
I  bear  a  sad  and  lonely  heart, 

To  pine  on  India's  shore. 

In  foreign  climes,  when  all  is  still, 

Save  this  poor  beating  heart, 
I'll  think  upon  the  distant  ill 

That  caused  me  to  depart. 

A  DAMSEL  STOOD  TO  WATCH  TIIE  FIGHT 

A  damsel  stood  to  watch  the  fight, 

On  the  banks  of  Kingslea  Mere, 
And  they  brought  to  her  feet  her  own  true  knight 

Sore  wounded  on  a  bier. 
O,  let  not,  he  said,  while  yet  I  live, 

The  cruel  foe  me  take, 
But  with  thy  lips  one  sweet  kiss  give, 

And  cast  me  in  the  lake. 

About  his  neck  she  wound  her  arms, 

And  she  kiss'd  his  lips  so  pale, 
And  evermore  the  war's  alarms 

Came  loudly  up  the  vale. 
She  drew  him  to  the  lake's  deep  side, 

Where  the  red  heath  fringed  the  shore; 
She  plunged  with  him  beneath  the  tide, 

And  they  were  seen  no  more. 


102  THE  AMERICAN 


SWISS  HUNTER'S  WELCOME  HOME. 

While  the  hunter  o'er  the  mountain,  at  daybreak  is 
bounding, 

By  the  wild  rilly  fountain,  the  chamois  descries  ; 
Through  the  mist  of  the  morning,  his  halloo  resound 
ing, 
Every  fear  nobly  scorning,  still  onward  he  flies. 
When  the  hunter  o'er  the  mountain, 

At  daybreak  is  bounding, 
By  the  wild  rilly  fountain, 

The  chamois  descries,  the  chamois,  &c. 

He  tracks  in  the  snow  print,  the  flight  of  the  ranger 
He  brushes  the  dew-tint,  where  cataracts  foam ; 
The  hunter  pursuing,  surmounts  every  danger, 
The  swift  chase  renewing,  till  night  calls  him 
home. 
When  the  hunter  o'er  the  mountain, 

At  daybreak  is  bounding, 
In  search  of  the  chamois, 

Unwearied  he  flies,  unwearied  he  flies. 

From  the  toils  of  the  chase,  the  bold  hunter  returning, 

With  joy  views  his  cot  in  the  valley  below. 
When  the  hunter  o'er  the  mountain,  from  the  chase 
is  returning, 
To  his  cot  near  the  fountain,  with  rapture  he  flies. 
Then  content  in  his  cottage, 

While  gently  reposing, 
From  woman's  bright  smile 

Meets  a  sweet  welcome  home,  a  sweet,  &c. 


MARSEILLES  HYMN  OF  LIBERTY. 

Ye  sons  of  Freedom,  wake  to  glory ! 

Hark !  hark !  what  myriads  bid  you  rise, 
Your  children,  wives,  and  grandsires  hoary, 

Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  103 


Shall  hateful  tyrants,  mischiefs  breeding, 

With  hireling  hosts,  a  ruffian  band, 

Affright  and  (Isolate  the  land, 
While  peaes  and  liberty  lie  bleeding? 

To  arms  !  to  arms !  ye  brave ! 

Th'  avenging  sword  unsheath: 
March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolv'd, 

On  victory  or  death. 

Now,  now,  the  dangerous  storm  is  rolling, 
Which  treacherous  kings  confederate  raise, 

The  dogs  of  war,  let  loose,  are  howling, 
And  lo !  our  fields  and  cities  blaze. 

And  shall  we  basely  view  the  ruin, 
While  lawless  force  with  guilty  stride, 
Spreads  desolation  far  and  wide, 

With  crimes  and  blood  his  hands  embruinjsr 
To  arms !  to  arms !  ye  brave,  &c 

With  luxury  and  pride  surrounded, 

The  vile  insatiate  despots  dare, 
Their  thirst  of  power  and  gold  unbounded, 

To  mete  and  vend  the  light  and  air. 
Like  beasts  of  burden  would  they  load  us, 

Like  gods  would  bid  their  slaves  adore, 

But  man  is  man,  and  who  is  more  ? 
Then  shall  they  longer  lash  and  goad  us  ? 
To  arms !  to  arms !  ye  brave,  &c 

Oh !  Liberty,  can  man  resign  thee, 
Once  having  felt  thy  generous  flame  ? 

Can  dungeons,  bolts,  and  bars  confine  thee  ? 
Or  whips  thy  noble  spirit  tame  ? 

Too  long  the  world  has  wept,  bewailing 
That  falsehood's  dagger  tyrants  wield, 
But  freedom  is  our  sword  and  shield, 

/Lnd  all  their  arts  are  unavailing. 
To  arms !  to  arms !  ye  brave,  &c 


104  THE    AMERICAN 


THE  BRIDEGROOM. 

The  bridegroom  at  the  altar's  side 

Devotedly  is  kneeling; 
His  heart,  the  throne  of  manly  pride, 

Beats  high  with  blissful  feeling : 
And  near  him,  like  some  gentle  How'r, 

Whose  lovely  form  is  blending 
With  one  beside  it  in  the  bow'r, 

The  bride  is  meekly  bending. 

Upon  her  hand  the  ring  is  plac'd, 

The  sure,  tho'  simple  token, 
Of  love  that  cannot  be  effac'd, 

'Till  life's  frail  chain  is  broken : 
For  time  shall  have  no  pow'r  to  part, 

The  vows  they  now  have  plighted, 
As  hand  to  hand,  so  heart  to  heart, 

For  ever  is  united. 

He  looks  upon  that  fair  one's  brow, 

INew  hopes  illume  his  bosom ; 
May  ev'ry  bud  that's  cherish'd  now 

Soon  ripen  into  blossom: 
There  kneel  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride 

Each  heart  new  joys  possessing, 
Whilst  at  the  sacred  altar's  side, 

The  pastor  breathes  his  blessing. 

THE  SAILOR'S  TEAR. 

He  leap'd  into  his  boat, 

As  it  lay  upon  the  strand ; 
But  oh !  his  heart  was  far  away, 

With  his  friends  upon  the  land ; 
He  thought  of  those  he  lov'd  the  best, 

A  wife  and  infant  dear, 
And  feeling  fill'd  the  sailor's  breast. 

The  sailor's  eye  a  tear. 


smant'fl  own  book.  105 

They  stood  upon  the  far-off  cl iff, 

And  wav'd  a  kerchief  white, 
An«I  raz'd  ujhhi  his  gallant  bark, 

Till  she  was  out  of  sight: 
The  sailor  cast  a  look  behind, 

No  longer  saw  them  near, 
Then  rais'd  the  canvas  to  his  eye, 

And  wiped  away  a  tear. 

Ere  long,  o'er  ocean's  blue  expanse 

His  sturdy  bark  had  sped  ; 
The  gallant  aailor  from  her  prow, 

Descries  a  sail  ahead  ; 
And  then  he  rais'd  his  mighty  arm, 

Columbia's  foes  were  near; 
Ay,  then  he  rais'd  his  arm,  but  not 

To  wipe  away  a  tear. 

NOW  AT  MOONLIGHT'S  FAIRY  HOUR. 

A  Duet. — Composed  by  Thos.  Thomson. 

Now  at  moonlight's  fain/  hour, 

When  faintiy  gleams  each  dewy  steep, 

And  vale  and  mountain,  lake  and  bower, 
In  solitary  grandeur  sleep. 

When  slowly  sinks  the  ev'ning  breeze, 
That  lulls  the  mind  in  pensive  ease, 

And  fancy  loftier  visions  sees, 
Bid  Music  w  ake  the  silent  air. 

Bid  the  merry  tabour  sound, 

And  with  the  lays  of  lawTi  or  glade 

In  tripling  circlets  beat  the  ground, 
Under  the  high  trees'  trembling  shade. 

Now  at  moonlight's  fairy  hour, 

Shall  music  breathe  her  dulcet  voice, 

And  o'er  the  waves  with  magic  power, 
Call  on  echo  to  rejoice. 


106  THE    AMERICAN 


THE  MOTHER. 

Look  on  that  brow — a  playful  smile, 

Affection's  ray  of  light, 
Makes  even  beauty's  self  appear, 

More  beautiful  and  bright. 

If  ever  heaven  o'er  the  earth, 

In  all  its  splendour  smil'd, 
'Tis  now,  the  mother's  eager  arra 

Enfolds  her  first-born  child. 

She  glances  back  to  other  days, 
When  she  herself  was  young, 

And  helpless  as  the  infant  form, 
On  which  her  hopes  are  hung. 

*Tis  but  a  dream  of  yesterday, 
The  bud  soon  bursts  to  now'r, 

The  flow'r  expands,  the  blossom  fades, 
'Tis  so  with  childhood's  hour. 

HowT  many  anxious  thoughts  have  birth, 

Within  the  mother's  breast ! 
How  many  fears,  then  hopes,  burst  forth, 

To  lull  'them  into  rest! 

She  prays  that  thro'  life's  varied  scenes, 

That  child  may  still  remain, 
In  virtue's  path,  the  faithful  link 

Of  love  and  friendship's  chain. 


THE  SECRET  OF  SINGLNG. 

By  B.  Cornwall 

Lady^,  sing  no  more ! 

Science  all  is  vain, 
Till  the  heart  be  touch'd,  lady. 

And  give  forth  its  nam. 


singer's  own  book.  107 

'Tis  a  hidden  lyre, 

Cherish'd  near  the  sun, 
O'er  whose  witching  wire,  lady, 

Fairy  lingers  run. 

Pity  comes  in  tears, 

From  her  home  above, 
Hope,  and  sometimes  fears,  lady, 

And  the  wizard, — Love ! 

Each  doth  search  the  heart, 

To  its  inmost  springs, 
And  when  they  depart,  lady, 

Then  the  Spirit  sings ! 

THE  LAST  LINK  IS  BROKEN. 

POPULAR  DUET. 

Words  by  Mr.  Clifton. — Music  from  Mozt  rt 

The  last  link  is  broken  that  bound  rne  to  thee, 

And  the  words  thou  hast  spoken  have  render eu  mo 

free  ; 
That  bright  glance,  misleading,  on  others  may  •huae, 
Those  eyes  smiled  unheeded  when  tears  burst  from 

mine 

If  my  leve  >jas  deemed  boldness,  tbs.i  e.ror  is  o'er, 
I've  vrilressed  thy  coldnp'^,  arid  prize  th^e  ro  more, 
Ob !  I  have  not  loved  lightly,  I'll  think  on  thee  yet 
And  pray  for  thee  nightly,  till  life's  sun  hath  set. 

THE  SUN  THAT  LIGHTS  THE  ROSES. 

Words  by  Moncrieff. 

Thougb  dimpled  cheeks  may  give  the  light, 

Where  rival  beauties  blossom, 
Though  balmy  lips  to  love  invite 

To  ecstasy  the  bosom  ; 
Vet  sweeter  far  yon  summer  sky, 

Whose  blushing  tint  discloses, 


108  THE   AMERICAN 


Give  me  the  lustre-beaming  eye, 
The  son  that  lights  the  roses. 

The  voice  of  love  is  soft  and  clear, 

Exciting  fond  emotion  ; 
How  sweet  it  sounds  upon  the  ear, 

Like  music  on  the  ocean  ; 
Yet  dearer  far  to  lover's  sight, 

The  eye  that  truth  discloses, 
Surpassing  with  its  splendour  bright, 

The  sun  that  lights  the  roses. 

COME  LISTEN  TO  MY  SONG. 

Come  listen  to  my  song,  my  love, 

'Twill  not  offend  thine  ear, 
The  moon  is  beaming  bright  above, 

Thou  hast  no  cause  of  fear. 
I'll  sing  of  lovers  brave  and  true, 

If"  thou  wilt  list  to  me, 
I'll  sing  the  charms  of  ladies  fair, 

But  none  so  fair  as  thee. 

Then  listen,  &c. 

I'll  sing  of  beauty,  love  and  fame  ; 

Of  love  in  distant  climes ; 
I'll  sing  of  eyes  so  blue  and  bright, 

But  none  so  bright  as  thine. 
Then  listen  to  my  song,  my  love, 

For  thou  art  dear  to  me, 
And  while  there  beams  a  light  above, 

I'll  sing  of  love  and  thee. 

Then  listen,  &c. 

LOVE'S  RITORNELLA. 

A  Duet. 

He. — Gentle  Zitella,  whither  away? 

Love's  ritornella,  list  while  I  play. 

She. — No.  I  have  lingered  too  long  on  my  road, 
Night  is  advancing,  the  brigand's  abroad ! 


singer's  own  book.  109 

Lonely  Zitella  has  too  much  to  fear; 
Love's  ritornella  she  may  not  hear. 

He. — Charming  Zitella,  why  shouldst  thou  care, 
Night  is  not  darker  than  thy  raven  hair! 
And  those  bright  eyes,  if  the  brigand  should  see 
Thou  art  the  robber,  the  captive  is  he! 
( lentle  Zitella,  banish  thy  iear, 
Love's  ritornella,  tarry  and  hear. 

She. — Simple  Zitella,  beware,  ah  beware! 
List  ye  no  ditty,  grant  ye  no  prayer. 

He. — To  your  light  footsteps  let  terror  add  wings ' 
'Tis  Massaroni  himself  who  now  sings! 
Gentle  Zitella,  banish  thy  fear! 
Love's  ritornella,  tarry  and  hear ! 


SHE  NEVER  BLAMED  HIM,  NEVER. 

She  never  blam'd  him.  never, 

But  received  him  when  he  came, 
With  a  welcome  kind  as  ever, 

And  she  tried  to  look  the  same ! 
But  vainly  did  she  dissemble, 

For  whene'er  she'd  try  to  smile, 
A  tear,  unbidden,  trembled 

In  her  blue  eye  all  the  while. 

She  knewT  that  she  was  dying, 

And  she  dreaded  not  her  doom, 
She  never  thought  of  sighing 

O'er  her  beauty's  blighted  bloom! 
She  knew  her  cheek  was  alter'd, 

And  she  knew  her  eye  was  dim, 
But  her  sweet  voice  only  falfer'd, 

WTien  she  spoke  oi"  losing  him 

'Tis  true,  that  he  had  lur'd  her 

From  the  isle  where  she  was  born , 

Tis  true,  he  liad  inured  her, 
To  the  cold  world's  cruel  acorn : 


110  THE  AMERICAN 

But  yet  she  never  blam'd  him, 
For  the  anguish  she  had  known, 

And  though  she  seldom  named  him, 
Yet  she  thought  of  him  alone. 

She  sigh'd  when  he  caress'd  her, 

For  she  knew  that  they  must  part, 
She  spoke  not,  when  he  press'd  her 

To  his  young  and  panting  heart ! 
The  banners  wav'd  around  her, 

And  she  heard  the  bugle's  sound ; 
They  pass'd — and  strangers  found  her 

Cold,  and  lifeless  on  the  ground  ? 


SOLDIER'S  TEAR. 

Upon  the  hill  he  turn'd,  to  take  a  last  fond  look 
At  the  valley,  and  the  village  church,  and  the  cot- 
tage by  the  brook ; 
He  listen'd  to  the  sounds  so  familiar  to  his  ear, 
And  the  soldier  lean'd  upon  his  sword,  and  wiped 
away  a  tear. 

Beside  that  cottage  porch,  a  girl  was  on  her  knees, 
She  held  aloft  a  snowy  scarf,  which  flutter'd  in  the 

breeze : 
She  breath'd  a  prayer  for  him,  a  prayer  he  could'nt 

hear; 
But  he  paused  to  bless  her  as  she  knelt,  and  wiped 

away  a  tear  ? 

He  turn'd  and  left  the  spot,  Oh !  do  not  deem  hire 

weak, 
For  dauntless  was  the  soldier's  heart,  though  tears 

were  on  his  cheek  ? 
Go  watch  the  foremost  ranks,  in  danger's  dark  career, 
Be  sure  the  hand  most  daring  there,  has  wiped  away 

a  tear  ? 


singer's  own  book.  Ill 


HERE  WE  MEET  TOO  SOON  TO  PART. 

Here  we  meet  too  soon  to  part ; 
Here  to  leave  will  raise  a  smart; 
Here  I'll  press  thee  to  my  heart, 

Where  none  have  place  above  thee. 

Here  I  vow  to  love  thee  well ; 
Could  but  words  unseal  the  spell, 
Had  but  language  strength  to  tell, 
I'd  say  how  much  I  love  thee! 

Here  the  rose  that  decks  thy  door; 
Here  the  thorn  that  spreads  thy  bower; 
Here  the  willow  on  the  moor; 
The  birds  at  rest  above  thee ; 

Had  they  light  of  life  to  see 
Sense  of  soul,  like  thee  and  me, 
Soon  might  each  a  witness  be, 
How  doatingly  1  love  thee ! 

OH!  NO,  I'LL  NEVER  MENTION  HIM. 

Oh!  no,  I'll  never  mention  him, 

His  name  is  never  heard  ; 
Mv  lips  are  now  forbid  to  speak 

That  once  familiar  word. 
From  sport  to  sport  they  hurry  me, 

To  banish  my  regret ; 
And  when  thev  win  a  smile  from  me, 

They  think  that  I  forget. 

They  bid  me  seek  in  change  cf  scene, 

The  charms  that  others  see; 
But  were  I  in  a  foreign  land, 

They'd  find  no  change  in  me. 
Tis  true  that  I  behold  no  more, 

The  valley  where  we  met; 
I  do  not  see  that  hawthorn  tree* 

Eut  how  can  I  forget  ? 


112  THE  AMERICAN 

They  tell  me  he  is  happy  now, 

The  gayest  of  the  gay ; 
Thcv  hint  that  he  forgets  his  vow, 

But  I  heed  not  what  they  say : 
Like  me  perhaps  he  struggles 

With  each  feeling  of  regret: 
But  if  he  loves  as  I  have  loved,  ' 

He  never  can  forget. 


LET  US  HASTE  TO  KELVIN  GROVE. 

Let  us  haste  to  Kelvin  grove,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 
Through  its  mazes  let  us  rove,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 

Where  the  rose  in  all  its  pride, 

Paints  the  hollow  dingle  side, 
Where  the  midnight  fairies  glide,  bonrxe  lassie,  O. 

We  will  wander  by  the  mill,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 
To  the  cove,  beside  the  rill,  bcnnie  lassie,  O, 

Where  the  glens  rebound  the  call 

Of  the  lofty  water-fall, 
Through  the  mountain's  rocky  hall,  bonnie  lassie,  O 

Then  we'll  up  to  yonder  glade,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 
Where  so  oft  beneath  its  shade,  bonnie  lassie,  O 
With  the  songsters  in  the  grove, 
We  have  told  our  tale  of  love, 
And  have  sportive  garlands  wove,  bonnie  lassie,  O. 

But  I  soon  must  bid  adieu,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 
To  this  fairy  scene  and  you,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 
To  the  streamlet  winding  clear, 
To  the  fragrant  scented  briar, 
Even  to  thee,  of  all  most  dear,  bonnie  lassie,  O. 

And  when  on  a  distant  shore,  bonnie  lassie,  O, 
Should  I  fall  'midst  battle's  roar,  bonnie  lassie,  O. 

Wilt  thou,  Eilen.  when  you  hear 

Of  thy  lover  on  his  bier, 
To  his  mem'ry  shed  a  tear,  bonnie  lassie,  O  ? 


singer's  own  book.  113 


MY  BONNIE  LASS,  NOW  TURN  TO  ME. 

Mv  bonnie  lass,  now  turn  to  me, 

And  gie  a  smile  to  cheer  me, 
An  honest  heart  I'll  gie  to  thee, 
For  in  truth  I  love  thee  dearly. 

Come,  o'er  the  heather  we'll  trip  together, 

All  in  the  morning  early, 

With  heart  and  hand,  I'll  by  thee  stand. 

For  in  truth  I  love  thee  dearly. 

Come,  o'er  the  heather  we'll  trip  together, 

I  heed  neither  mother  nor  father  nor  brother, 

With  heart  and  hand,  I'll  by  thee  stand, 

For  in  truth  I  love  thee  dearly. 

There's  many  a  lass  I  love  full  well, 

And  many  who  love  me  dearly, 
But  there's  ne'er  a  one,  except  thysel', 

That  I  e'er  could  love  sincerely. 

Come  o'er  the  heather,  &c. 


ALL  THE  BLUE  BONNETS  ARE  OVER  THE 

BORDER. 

March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale ! 

Why,  my  lads,  dinna  ye  march  forward  in  order  ? 
March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale ! 
All  the  blue  bonnets  are  over  the  border  . 
Many  a  banner  spread, 
Flutters  above  your  head, 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story ; 

Mount,  and  make  ready,  then, 
Sons  of  the  mountain-glen, 
Fight  for  your  king,  and  the  old  Scottish  border. 

March,  march,  Ettrick,  <fec. 

Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing 
Come  from  the  glens  of  the  buck  and  the  roe, 

Come  to  the  crag  where  .the  beacon  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow ; 
H 


114  THE  AMERICAN 

Tiumpets  are  sounding, 
War-steeds  are  bounding, 

Stand  to  your  arms,  and  march  in  good  order: 
England  shall  many  a  day, 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 

When  the  blue  bonnets  came  over  the  border. 

Marchr  march,  Ettrick,  &c. 


SMILE  AGAIN,  MY  BONNIE  LASSIE. 

Smile  again,  my  bonnie  lassie, 

Lassie,  smile  again ! 
Prithee  do  not  frown,,  sweet  lassie, 

For  it  gives  me  pain. 
If  to  love  thee  too  sincerely 

Be  a  fault  in  me, 
Thus  to  use  me  so  severely 

Is  not  kind  in  thee. 

Smile  again,  &c. 

Fare-thee-well,  my  bonnie  lassie, 

Lassie,  fare-ye-well, 
Time  will  show  thee,  bonnie  lassie, 

More  than  tongue  can  tell. 
Though  we're  doom'd  by  fate  to  sever, 

(And  'tis  hard  to  part) 
Still,  believe  me,  thou  shalt  ever 

Own  my  faithful  heart. 

Then,  smile  again,  &c. 

THE  DASHING  WHITE  SERJEANT 

Sung  by  Miss  Kelly. 

If  I  had  a  beau, 

For  a  soldier  who'd  go, 

Do  you  think  I'd  say  No? 

No,  not  I ! 

When  his  red  coat  I  saw, 

Not  a  sigh  would  I  draw, 

But  give  him  eclat  for  his  bravery. 


singer's  own  book.  115 

If  an  army  of  Amazons  e'er  camo  in  play, 
As  a  dashing  white  serjeant  I'd  march  away  ' 

March  away,  &c. 

When  my  soldier  was  gone, 
D'ye  think  I'd  take  on, 
And  sit  moping  forlorn  ? 
No,  not  1 ! 

His  fame  my  concern, 
How  my  bosom  would  burn, 
When  I  saw7  him  return,  crown'd  with  victory 

If  an  army  of  Amazons,  &c. 

INGLE  SIDE. 

It's  rare  to  see  the  morning  bleeze, 

Like  a  bonfire  frae  the  sea ; 
It's  fair  to  see  the  burnie  kiss 

The  lip  o'  the  fiow'ry  lea ; 
And  fine  it  is  on  green  hill  side, 

Where  hums  the  bonnie  bee : 
But  rarer,  fairer,  finer  still, 

Is  the  Ingle  side  for  me. 

Glens  may  be  gilt  wi'  gowans  rare, 

The  birds  may  fill  the  tree, 
And  haughs  hae  a'  the  scented  ware, 

That  simmer's  growth  can  gie : 
But  the  cantie  hearth  where  cronies  meet, 

An'  the  darling  o'  our  e'e, 
That  mak's  to  us  a  warl'  complete, 

Oh !  the  Ingle  side  for  me. 


*aJ 


SLOWLY  WEARS  THE  DAY,  LOVE. 

Slowly  wears  the  day,  love, 

When  away  from  thee; 
Scenes,  before  so  gay,  love, 

Charm  no  longer  me. 
The  bower  that  sweetly  smil'd,  love, 

Decked  with  roses  rare, 


116  THE  AMERICAN 


Seems  a  desert  wild,  love, 
When  thou  art  not  there. 

My  heart  with  joy  o'erflows,  love, 

When  I  see  thee  near ; 
Each  pulse  with  rapture  glows,  love, 

When  lhy  voice  I  hear! 
In  thine  angel  smile,  love, 

Heaven  appears  to  be ; 
'Tis  as  free  from  guile,  love, 

'Tis  as  dear  for  me ! 

W7AT£RS  OF  ELLE. 

Waters  of  Elle,  thy  limpid  streams  are  flowing 

Smooth  and  untroubled  o'er  the  flow'ry  vale : 
On  thy  green  banks,  once  more  the  wild-rose  blow- 
ing, 
Greets  the  young  spring,  and  scents  the  passing 
gale. 

Here,  'twas  at  eve,  near  yonder  tree  reposing, 
One,  still  too  dear,  first  breath'd  his  vows  to  me : 

Wear  this,  (he  cried)  his  guileful  love  disclosing, 
Near  to  thy  heart,  in  memory  of  me ! 

Love's  cherished  gift  (the  rose  he  gave)  is  faded — 
Love's  blighted  flower  can  never  bloom  again. 

Weep  for  thy  fault,  in  heart,  in  mind  degraded, 
Weep,  if  thy  tears  can  wash  away  the  stain. 

WHEN  THY  BOSOM  HEAVES  THE  SIGH 

A  Duet. — Arranged  by  A.  Braham. 

When  thy  bosom  heaves  the  sigh, 
When  the  tear  o'erflows  thine  eye, 
May  sweet  hope  afford  relief, 
Cheer  thy  heart  and  calm  thy  grief 

So  the  tender  flower  appears, 
Drooping  wet  with  morning  tears, 
Till  the  sunbeams'  genial  ray 
Chase  the  heavy  dew  away. 


singer's  own  book.  117 

BRIGNAL  BANKS. 

Words  by  Sir  \Y.  Scott. — Music  by  Dr.  Clarke. 

O  Brignal  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 
And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton-hall, 

Beneath  the  turret  high, 
A  maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily, — 

0  Brignal  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 
And  Greta  woods  are  green; 

I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 
Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

If,  maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we, 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down. 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  full  well  you  may, 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shalt  thou  speed 

As  blithe  as  queen  of  May. 
Yet  sung  she,  Brignal  banks  ere  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there, 

Than  reign  our  English  queen. 

1  read  you,  by  your  bugle  horn, 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger  sworn, 

To  keep  the  king's  green  wood. 
A  ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night. 
Yet  sung  she,  Brignal  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 

To  reign  his  queen  of  May .' 


118  THE   AMERICAN 


With  burnish' d  brand  and  musketoon, 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  dragoon, 

That  lists  the  tuck  of  drum. 
I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear ; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 
And  O,  though  Brignal  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare, 

Would  reign  my  queen  of  May ! 

Maiden !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die : 
The  fiend,  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead 

Were  better  mate  than  I ! 
And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met, 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough, 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 
Yet  Brignal  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there, 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 

CHASE.  THAT  STARTING  TEAR  AWAY. 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away 

Ere  mine  to  meet  it  springs ; 
To-night,  at  least  to-night,  be  gay, 

Whate'er  to-morrow  brings : 
Like  sunset  gleams  that  linger  lale, 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast, 
Are  hours  like  these  we  snatch  from  fate, 

The  brightest  and  the  Jast. 

Then  chase  that,  &c. 

To  gild  our  dark'ning  life,  if  heaven 
But  one  bright  hour  allow ; 


singer's  own  book.  119 


Oh !  think  that  one  bright  hour  is  given, 

In  all  its  splendour  now ! 
Let's  live  it  out — then  sink  in  night, 

Like  waves  that  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell — are  toueh'd  with  light — 

Then  lost  for  ever  more. 


SHOULD  THESE  FOND  HOPES. 

Should  these  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  thee, 

Which  now  so  sweetly  thy  young  heart  employ; 
Should  the  cold  world  come  to  wake  thee 

From  all  the  visions  of  youth  and  joy ; 
Should   the   gay   friends,  for   whom   thou   wrouldst 
banish 

Him  who  once  thought  thy  young  heart  his  own, 
All,  like  spring  birds,  falsely  vanish, 

And  leave  thy  winter  unheeded  and  lone. 

Oh !  'tis  then,  he,  thou  hast  slighted, 

Would  come  to  cheer  thee,  when  all  seemed  o'er 
When  the  truant,  lost  and  blighted, 

Would  to  his  bosom  be  taken  once  more : 
Like  that  dear  bird,  we  both  can  remember. 

Who  left  us  while  summer  shone  around ; 
But  when  chill'd  by  bleak  December, 

Upon  our  threshold  a  welcome  still  found 

MY  HEART  AND  LUTE. 

I  give  thee  all,  I  can  no  more, 

Though  poor  the  off'dng  be ; 
My  heart  and  lute  are  all  the  store 

That  I  can  bring  to  thee. 
A  lute,  whose  gentle  song  reveals 

The  soul  of  love  full  well, 
And,  better  far,  a  heart  that  feels 

Much  more  than  lute  can  tell.' 
I  give  thee  all,  I  can  no  more, 
Though  poor  the  ofFring  be ; 


120  THE  AMERICAN 

My  heart  and  lute  are  all  the  store 
That  I  can  bring  to  thee. 

Though  love  and  song  may  fail,  alas ! 

To  keep  life's  clouds  away, 
At  least  'twill  make  them  lighter  pass, 

Or  gild  them  if  they  stay. 
If  ever  care  his  discord  flings, 

O'er  life's  enchanted  strain, 
Let  love  but  gently  touch  the  strings, 

'Twill  all  be  sweet  again. 
I  give  thee  all,  &c. 

BAVARIAN  BROOM  GIRL. 

From  Teutchland  I  come,  with  my  light  wares  all 
laden, 
To  dear  happy  England,  in  summer's  gay  bloom, 
Then  listen,  fair  lady  and  young  pretty  maiden, 
Oh !  buy  of  the  wand'ring  Bavarian  a  broom 
Buy  a  broom !  buy  a  broom  ! 
Buy  a  broom !  buy  a  broom ! 
Oh !  buy  of  the  wand'ring  Bavarian  a  broom . 

To  brush  away  insects  that  sometimes  annoy  you, 
You'll  find  it  quite  handy,  to  use  night  and  day, 
And  what  better  exercise,  pray,  can  employ  you, 
Than  to  sweep  all  vexatious  intruders  away. 
Buy  a  broom !  buy  a  broom ! 
Buy  a  broom !  buy  a  broom ! 
Than  to  sweep  all  vexatious  intruders  away. 

Ere  winter  comes  on,  for  sweet  home  soon  departing 

My  toils  for  your  favour  again  I'll  resume, 
And  while  gratitude's  tear  in  my  eyelid  is  starting, 
Bless  the  time  that  in  England  I  cried  buy  a  broom! 
Buy  a  broom !  buy  a  broom ! 
Buy  a  broom !  buy  a  broom ! 
Bless  the  time  tnat  in  England  I  cried  buy  a 
broom ! 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  121 


HAIL  TO  THE  CHIEF. 

Hail  to  the  chief,  who  in  triumph  advances, 

Honour'd  and  blest  be  the  evergreen  pine ; 
Long  may  the  tree  in  his  banner  that  glances, 
Flourish  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line. 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gaily  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow; 

While  every  highland  glen, 

Sends  our  shout  back  again, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  Dhu,  ho!  ieroe!" 

Ours  is  no  sapling  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  at  beltane,  in  winter  to  fade  ; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stript  every  leaf  on  the 
mountain, 
The  more  shall  Clan  Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 
Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 
Firmer  he  roots  him,  the  ruder  it  blow: 
Menteith  and  Bredalbane,  then, 
Echo  his  praise  again, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  Dhu,  ho !  ieroe !" 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 
And  Banochars  groans  to  our  slogan  replied, 
Glen  Luss  and  Ross  Dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side 

Widow  and  Saxon  maid 

Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 
Think  of  Clan  Alpine  with  fear  and  with  woe : 

Lenox  and  Leven  Glen 

Shake  when  they  hear  again, 
44  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  Dhu,  ho !  ieroe !" 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands 
Stretch  to  your  oars  for  the  evergreen  pine! 

O!  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands, 
Were  wreath'd  in  a  garland  around  him  to  twine 


122  THE  AMERICAN 

O  that  some  seedling  gem, 

Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honour'd  and  blest,  in  their  shadow  might  grow ; 

Loud  should  Clan  Alpine  then 

Ring  from  her  deepmost  glen, 
*  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  Dhu,  ho !  ieroe !" 

THE  EXILE  OF  ERIN. 

There  came  to  the  beach  a  poor  exile  of  Erin ; 

The  dew  on  his  thin  robe  hung  heavy  and  chill; 
For  his  country  he  sigh'd,  when  at  twilight  repairing 

To  wander  alone  by  the  wind-beaten  hill : 
But  the  day-star  attracted  his  eve's  sad  devotion, 
For  it  rose  on  his  own  native  isle  of  the  ocean, 
Where  once  in  the  glow  of  his  youthful  emotion, 
He  sang  the  bold  anthem  of  Erin  go  Bragh ! 

Oh !  sad  is  my  fate,  said  the  heart-broken  stranger : 

The  wTild  Seer  and  wolf  to  a  covert  can  flee; 
But  I  have  no  refuge  from  famine  and  danger, 

A  home  and  a  country  remain  not  for  me: 
Ah !  never  again  in  the  green  shady  bowers, 
Where  my  forefathers  liv'd,  shall  I  spend  the  sweet 

hours, 
Or  cover  my  harp  with  the  wild  woven  flowers, 
And  strike  to  the  numbers  of  Erin  go  Bragh ! 

Oh,  where  is  the  cottage  that  stood  by  the  wild  wood  f 

Sisters  and  sires,  did  ye  wreep  for  its  fall  ? 
Oh  where  is  my  mother  that  watch'd  o'er  my  child- 
hood, 
And  where  is  the  bosom-friend,  dearer  than  all  ? 
Ah !  my  sad  soul  long  abandon  d  by  pleasure, 
Oh  why  did  it  doat  on  a  fast  fading  treasure — 
Tears  like  the  rain  drops  may  fall  without  measure 
But  rapture  and  beauty  they  cannot  recall. 

Erin,  my  country,  though  sad  and  forsaken, 
In  dreams  I  revisit  thy  sea-beaten  shore ; 

But,  alas!  in  a  far  distant  land  I  awaken, 

And  sigh  for  the  friends  who  can  meet  me  no  more. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  123 

Oh,  hard  cruel  fate,  wilt  thou  never  replace  me, 
In  a  mansion  of  peace,  where  no  peril  can  chase  me, 
Ah!  never  again  shall  my  brothers  embrace  me— 
They  died  to  defend  me,  or  live  to  deplore. 

But  yet,  nil  its  sad  recollections  suppressing 

One  dying  wish  my  lone  bosom  shall  draw ; 
Erin,  an  exile  bequeathes  thee  his  blessing, 

Land  of  my  forefathers,  Erin  go  Bragh ! 
Buried  and  cold,  when  my  heart  stills  its  motion, 
Green  be  thy  fields,  sweetest  isle  of  the  ocean, 
And  thy  harp-striking  bards  sing  aloud  with  devotion 
Erin  ma  vorneen,  Erin  go  Bragh ! 


MARCH  TO  THE  BATTLE  FIELD. 

March  to  the  battle  field, 

The  foe  is  now  before  us  ,* 
Each  heart  is  freedom's  shield, 
And  heav'n  is  smiling  o'er  us. 
The  woes  and  pains, 
The  galling  chains, 
That  keep  our  spirits  under. 
In  proud  disdain, 
We've  brok'n  again, 
And  tore  each  link  asunder. 

March  to  the,  &c. 

Who,  for  his  country  brave, 

Would  fly  from  her  invader  ? 
Who,  his  base  life  to  save, 

Would,  traitor-like,  degrade  her? 
Our  hallow'd  cause, 
Our  home  and  laws, 
'Gainst  tyrant  power  sustaining, 
We'll  gain  a  crown 
Of  bright  renown, 
Or  die— our  rights  maintaining ! 

March  to  the,  &c 


124  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  WATCHMAN. 

Good  night,  good  night,  my  dearest, 

How  fast  the  moments  fly ; 
'Tis  time  to  part,  thou  nearest 

That  hateful  watchman's  cry, 

"  Past  twelve  o'clock!" — good  night! 

Yet  stay  a  moment  longer — 

Alas  !  why  is  it  so  ? — 
The  wish  to  stay  grows  stronger, 

The  more  'tis  time  to  go. 

" Past  one  o'clock!" — good  night! 

Now  wrap  thy  cloak  about  thee : — 

The  hours  must  sure  go  wrong, 
For  when  they're  past  without  thee, 

They're,  oh !  ten  times  as  long, 
" Past  two  o'clock!" — good  night! 

Again  that  dreadful  warning ! 

Had  ever  time  such  flight  ? 
And  see  the  sky, — 'tis  morning — 

So  now,  indeed,  good  night! 
" Past  three  o'clock!" — good  night 

ISABEL. 

Wake,  dearest,  wake !  and  again  united 

We'll  rove  by  yonder  sea; 
And  where  our  first  vows  of  love  were  plighted, 

Our  last  farewell  shall  be  ; 
There  oft  I've  gaz'd  on  thy  smiles  delighted, 

And  there  I'll  part  from  thee. 
There  oft  I've  gaz'd  on  thy  smiles  delighted, 
And  there  I'll  part  from  thee. 
Isabel!  Isabel!  Isabel! 

One  look,  though  that  look  is  in  sorrow; 
Fare-thee-welJ !  fare-thee-well!  fare-thee-well! 
Far  hence  I  shall  wander  to-morrow : 
Ah  me!  ah  rne! 


singer's  own  book.  125 

Dark  is  my  doom,  and  from  thee  I  sever, 

Whom  1  have  lov'd  alone; 
Twere  cruel  to  link  thy  fate  for  ever 
With  sorrows  like  my  own; 

-mile  on  livelier  friends,  and  never 
Lament  me  when  I'm  gone. 
( ;<i  smile  on  livelier  friends,  and  never 
Lament  me  when  I'm  gone. 

Isabel !  Isabel,  &c. 

And  when  at  length  in  these  lovely  bowers, 

Some  happier  youth  you  see; 
And  you  cull  for  him  spring's  sweetest  flowers, 

And  he  sings  of  love  to  thee : 
When  you  laugh  with  him  at  these  vanish'd  hours, 

Oh !  tell  him  to  love  like  me. 
When  you  laugh  with  him  at  these  vanish'd  hours. 

Oh !  tell  him  to  love  like  me. 

Isabel !  Isabel,  &c. 

MORGIANA. 

Ah !  what  is  the  bosom's  commotion, 

In  a  sea  of  suspense  while  'tis  tost ! 
While  the  heart  in  our  passion's  wild  ocean 

Feel's  even  hope's  anchor  is  lost. 
Morgiana,  thou  art  my  dearest, 

For  thee  I  have  languish'd  and  griev'd! 
And  when  hope  to  my  bosom  was  nearest, 

How  oft  has  that  hope  been  deceiv'd. 

Morgiana,  my  hope  was  deceiv'd. 

The  storm  of  despair  has  blown  over : 

No  more  by  its  vapour  depress'd, 
I  laugh  at  the  clouds  of  a  lover, 

With  the  sunshine  of  joy  in  my  breast. 
Love  made  by  a  parent  my  duty, 

To  the  wish  of  my  heart  now  arriv'd ; 
[  bend  to  the  power  of  beauty, 

And  ev'ry  fond  hope  is  reviv'd. 

Morgiana,  my  hope  is  reviv'd. 


126 


THE  AMERICAN 


OH !  THINK  NOT  MY  SPIRITS  ARE  ALWAYS 

AS  LIGHT. 

Air, — John  O'Reilly,  the  active. 

Oh !  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light, 

And  as  free  from  a  pang,  as  they  seem  to  you  now, 
Nor  expect  that  the  heart-beaming  smile  of  to-night, 

Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  brighten  my  brow. 
No,  life  is  a  waste  of  wearisome  hours, 

Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adorns ; 
And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the  flow'rs, 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touch'd  bv  the  thorns ! 

•J  J 

But  send  round  the  bowl,  and  be  happy  awhile ; 

May  we  never  meet  worse  in  our  pilgrimage  here, 
Than  the  tear  that  enjoyment  can  gild  with  a  smile, 

And  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  to  a  tear. 

The  thread  of  our  life  would  be  dark,  heaven  knows! 

If  it  were  not  with  friendship  and  love  intertwin'd; 
And  I  care  not  how  soon  I  may  sink  to  repose, 

When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear  to 
my  mind  ; 
But  they  who  have  lov'd,  the  fondest,  the  purest, 

Who  often  have  wept  o'er  the  dream  they  believ'd; 
And  the  heart  that  has  slumber'd  in  friendship  se- 
curest, 

Is  happy,  indeed,  if  'twas  never  deceiv'd. 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  while  a  relic  of  truth 

Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  pray'r  shall  be  mine,— 
That  the  sunshine  of  love  may  illumine  our  youth, 

And  the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our  decline 

FLY  AWAY,  PRETTY  MOTH. 

Flv  away,  pretty  moth,  to  the  shade 
Of  the  leaf  where  you  slumber'd  all  day, 
Be  content  with  the  moon  and  the  stars,  pretty  moth, 
And  make  use  of  your  wings  while  you  may. 

Tho'  yon  glittering  light 

May  have  dazzled  you  quite, 


SIMJER  S    OVT.N    BOOK.  127 

Though  the  gold  of  yon  lamp  may  be  gay; 
Many  things  in  this  world,  that  look  bright,  pretty 
moth, 
Only  dazzle  to  lead  us  astray. 

I  have  seen,  pretty  moth,  in  the  world, 
Some  as  wild  as  yourself  and  as  gay; 
Who,  bewitch'd  by  the  sweet  fascination  of  eyes, 
Flitted  round  them  by  night  and  by  day. 
But  though  dreams  of  delight 
May  have  dazzled  them  quite, 
They  at  last  found  it  dangerous  play; 
Many  things  in  this  world,  that  look  bright,  pretty 
moth, 
Only  dazzle  to  lead  us  astray. 

AWAY!  AWAY,  TO  THE  MOUNTAIN'S  BROW. 

Adapted  to  mustc. 

Away !  away,  to  the  mountain's  brow, 

Where  the  trees  are  gently  waving, 
Away  !  away,  to  the  mountain's  brow, 

Where  the  stream  is  gently  laving, 
And  beaut\-,  my  love,  on  thy  cheek  shall  dwell, 

Like  the  rose  as  it  opes  to  the  day, 
While  the  zephyr  that  breathes  thro'  the  flow'ry  dell, 

Shakes  the  sparkling  dew-drops  away. 

Away !  away,  to  the  mountain's  brow,  &c. 

Away !  away,  to  the  rocky  glen, 

Where  the  deer  are  wildly  bounding, 
And  the  hills  shall  echo  in  gladness  again, 

To  the  hunter's  bugle  sounding ; 
While  beaut)-,  my  love,  on  thy  cheek  shall  dwell, 

Like  the  rose,  as  it  opes  to  the  day, 
While  the  zephyr  that  breathes  thro'  the  flow'ry  dell, 

Shakes  the  sparkling  dew-drops  away. 
Away !  away,  to  the  rocky  glen,  &c. 


123  THE    AMERICAN 


OH !  THOU  WHO  DRY'ST  THE  MOURNER'S 

TEAR, 

Oh !  Thou,  who  dry'st  the  mourners  tear, 

How  dark  this  "world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceiv'd  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  thee  ! 
The  friends,  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  conies,  are  flown ; 
And  he,  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  wo. 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And'  e'en  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimm'd  and  vanish'd  too ! 
Oh!  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  thy  wing  of  love 
Come  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom, 

Our  peace-branch  from  above ! 
Then,  sorrow,  touch'd  by  thee,  grows  bright, 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light, 

We  never  saw  by  day ! 

THE  WELCOME  OF  ROYAL  CHARLIE. 

Arouse!  arouse!  ilk  kilted  clan, 
Let  Highland  hearts  lead  on  the  van; 
Forward  wi'  her,  dirk  in  hand, 
To  fight  for  royal  Charlie. 

Welcome,  Charlie,  o'er  the  main, 

The  Highland  hills  are  a'  your  ain , 

Welcome  to  your  ain  again — 

Welcome,  royal  Charlie. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  120 

Auld  Scotia's  sons,  'mong  Highland  hills, 
Can  nobly  brave  the  fare  o'  ills; 
For  kindred  lire  ilk  bosom  fills, 
At  sight  o'  royal  Charlie. 

Welcome,  Charlie,  &c. 

Her  ancient  thistle  wags  her  pow, 
And  proudly  wa^s,  o'er  dale  and  knowe, 
To  hear  the  oath,  and  sacred  vow — 
We'll  live  or  die  wi'  Charlie  : 

Welcome,  Charlie,  &c 

Rejoic'd  to  think  nae  foreign  weed 
Shall  trample  on  her  hardy  seed  ; 
For  weel  she  kens  her  sons  will  bleed, 
Or  fix  his  throne  right  fairly. 

Welcome,  Charlie,  &c. 

Among  the  wilds  o'  Caledon, 
Breathes  there  a  base  degenerate  son 
Who  would  not  to  his  standard  run, 
And  rally  round  prince  Charlie  ? 

Welcome,  Charlie,  &c 

Then  let  the  flowing  qucch  go  round, 
And  boklly  bid  the  pibroch  sound, 
Till  ev'ry  glen  and  rock  resound 
The  name  of  royal  Charlie. 

Welcome,  Charlie,  &c 


A  SOLDIER'S  THE  LAD  I  ADORE 

A  soldier's  the  lad  I  adore, 

Though  he's  far  from  his  friends  and  his  home; 
Love!  grant  I  mav  see  him  once  more, 

And  march  to  the  roll  of  his  drum. 

With  plume  in  his  helm,  and  his  sword 

By  his  side,  and  a  hero-like  show, 
He  mareh'd  to  the  field  at  the  glorious  word, 

4nd  beat  the  retreat  of  the  foe 
I 


130  THE  AMERICAN 

Full  many  a  youth  have  I  seen, 
Who  has  whisper'd  affection  to  me ; 

But  give  me  the  lad  with  a  doublet  of  green, 
Who  can  beat  freedom's  reveille. 

Should  he  fall,  but  I  hope  he  may  not, 
His  spirit  shall  dwell  with  the  brave, 

His  deeds  by  his  country  shall  ne'er  be  forgot 
Wliile  Freedom  weeps  over  his  grave. 

Then  march  to  the  roll  of  the  drum, 
It  summons  the  brave  to  the  plain, 

Where  heroes  contend  for  the  home 
Which  perchance  they  may  ne'er  see  again. 

THE  MERRY  MOUNTAIN  HORN. 

Come,  my  gallant  soldier,  come, 

Leave  the  proud  embattled  field, 
Shrilly  fife,  and  rolling  drum, 

All  the  pleasures  war  can  yield. 
Quickly  come,  again  behold 

The  happy  land  where  thou  wert  born, 
And  hear  its  music  sweet  and  bold, 
The  merry  mountain  horn. 

The  merry  mountain  horn, 
Yhu — i — eo — ei — o — yhu, 
The  merry  mountain  horn ! 

In  thy  native  valley  find, 

Far  away  from  pomp  and  power, 

Constant  love  and  peace  of  mind, 
Here  in  bright  affection's  bower. 

Quickly  come,  &c. 

ARABY'S  DAUGHTER. 

Farewell,  farewell  to  thee,  Araby's  daughter! 

(Thus  warbled  a  Peri  beneath  the  dark  sea) 
No  pearl  ever  lay  under  Oman's  green  water, 

More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  spirit  in  thee. 


singer's  own  book.  131 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber, 
That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept, 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollow  wreath'd  cham- 
ber, 
The  Peris  of  ocean  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

Nor  shall  Iran  (beloved  of  her  hero)  forget  thee,— 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they  start 

Close,  close  by  the  side  of  that  hero  she'll  set  thee, 
Embalm'd  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  heart 

Around  thee,  &c. 


TWILIGHT  DEWS. 

When  twilight  dews  are  falling  fast 

Upon  the  rosy  sea, 
I  watch  that  star,  whose  beam  so  oft 

Has  lighted  me  to  thee. 
And  thcu,  too,  on  that  orb  so  dear, 

Ah !  dost  thou  gaze  at  even, 
And  think,  though  lost  for  ever  here, 

Thou'lt  yet  be  mine  in  heaven  ? 

And  thou,  too,  on  that,  &c 

There's  not  a  garden  walk  I  tread 

There's  not  a  flower  I  see ; 
But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that's  fled, 

Some  joy  I've  lost  with  thee  : 
And  still  I  wish  that  hour  was  near, 

When  friends  and  foes  forgiven, 
The  pains,  the  ills  we've  wept  through  here 

May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven. 

And  still  I  wish,  &c. 


A  GARDEN  FORIMED. 

A  garden  form'd  by  nature  wild, 

Is  like  sweet  woman  kind, 
If  train'd  with  care,  with  culture  mild, 

Tts  beauties  *>on  we  find. 


132  THE  AMERICAN 

When  weeded,  soon  it  kindly  blows, 

And  every  sweet  displays, 
With  charms  as  blooming  as  the  rose, 

The  pride  of  summer  days. 

With  charms,  &c. 

Or,  like  the  modest  Julian  flower, 

That  blooms  alone  at  night; 
But  sweetens  then  each  blissful  hour, 

Beyond  the  charms  of  light. 
Though  tulips  may  of  charms  possess 

The  rarest  of  the  rare, 
The  sweet  two-hps  I  love  to  press 

Are  those  which  grace  the  fair. 

The  sweet  two-  lips,  &c 


THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT. 

Blow,  warder,  blow!  thy  sounding  horn, 

And  thy  banner  wave  on  high, 
for  the  Christians  have  fought  in  the  Holy  Land. 

And  have  won  the  victory  V 
Loud,  loud  the  warder  blew  his  horn, 

And  his  banner  wav'd  on  high — 
Let  the  mass  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

And  the  feast,  the  feast  eat  merrily.' 

The  warder  look'd  from  the  tower  on  high, 

As  far  as  he  could  see ; 
I  see  a  bold  knight,  and  by  his  red  cross, 

He  comes  from  the  East  country.' 
Then  loud  the  warder  blew  his  horn, 

And  call'd  till  he  was  hoarse, 
1 1  see  a  bold  knight,  and  on  his  shield  bright, 

He  beareth  a  flaming  cross.' 

Then  down  the  lord  of  the  castle  came, 

The  red-cross  knight  to  meet; 
And  when  the  red-cross  knight  he  espied, 

Right  loving  he  did  him  greet. 


singer's  own  book.  133 

•  Thou'rt  welcome  here,  dear  red-cross  knight, 

For  thy  fame's  well  known  to  me; 
And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall  be 
rung, 

And  we'll  feast  right  merrily,  merrily.' 

Oh.  I  am  come  from  the  Holy  Land, 

Where  saints  did  live  and  die; 
Behold  the  device  I  bear  on  my  shield! 

The  red-cross  knight  am  I. 
And  we  have  fought  in  the  Holy  Land, 

And  have  won  the  victory: 
For  with  valiant  might  did  the  Christians  fight, 

And  made  the  proud  Pagans  fly.' 

•Thou'rt  welcome  here,  dear  red-cross  knight, 

Dear  knight,  come  lay  thy  armour  by, 
And  for  the  good  tidings  thou  dost  bring, 

We'll  feast  us  merrily,  merrily : 
For  all  in  my  castle  shall  rejoice 

That  we've  won  the  victory; 
And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall  D€ 
rung, 

And  the  feast,  the  feast  eat  merrily.' 

LIFE. 

Written  by  Barry  Cornwall. 

We  are  born ;  we  laugh ;  we  weep ; 

We  love  ;  we  droop ;  we  die  ! 
Ah !  wherefore  do  we  laugh,  or  weep  ? 

Why  do  we  live,  or  die  \ 
Who  knows  that  secret  deep  ? 

Ala3,  not  1 ! 

Why  doth  the  violet  spring 

Lnseen  by  human  eye  ? 
Why  do  the  radiant  seasons  bring 

Sweet  thoughts  that  quickly  fly  ? 
Why  do  our  fond  hearts  cling 

To  things  that  die  ? 


134  THE    AMERICAN 

We  toil, — throu0h  pain  and  wrong  ; 

We  fight, — and  fly ; 
We  love ;  we  lose  ;  and  then,  ere  long, 

Stone-dead  we  lie. 
O  Life !  is  all  thy  song 

•  Endure  and — die  V 

JESSIE,  THE  FLOWER  O'  DUMBLANE. 

Favourite  Melody. 

The  sun  has  gane  down  o'er  the  lofty  Benloraond, 

And  left  the  red  clouds  to  preside  o'er  the  scene, 
While  lanely  I  stray  in  the  calm  simmer  gloaming, 

To  muse  on  sweet  Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dumblane. 
How  sweet  is  the  brier  wi'  its  saft  faulding  blossom, 

And  sweet  is  the  birk  wi'  its  mantle  o'  green, 
Yet  sweeter  an'  fairer  an'  dear  to  my  bosom, 

Is  lovely  young  Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dumblane, 
Is  lovely  young  Jessie,  is  lovely  young  Jessie, 
Is  lovely  young  Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dumblane. 

She's  modest  as  ony,  an'  blythe  as  she's  bonny, 

For  guileless  simplicity  marks  her  its  ain, 
An'  far  be  the  villain  divested  o'  feeling, 

Wha'd  blight  in  its  blossom  the  sweet  flow'r  o' 
Dumblane. 
Sing  on,  thou  sweet  Mavis,  thy  hymn  to  the  e'ening, 

Thou  'rt  dear  to  the  echoes  o'  Calderwood  glen, 
Sae  dear  to  this  bosom,  sae  artless  and  winning, 

Is  charming  young  Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dumblane. 

How  lost  were  my  days,  till  I  met  wi'  my  Jessie, 

The  sports  o'  the  city  seem'd  foolish  and  vain, 
I  ne'er  saw  a  nymph  I  wrould  ca'  my  dear  lassie, 

Till  charm'd  wi'  sweet  Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dum- 
blane. 
Tho'  mine  were  the  station  o'  loftiest  grandeur, 

Amidst  its  profusion  I'd  languish  in  pain, 
An'  reckon  as  naelhing  the  height  o'  its  splendour, 

If  wanting  sweet  Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dumblane. 


singer's  own  book.  13^> 


O  NEVER  FALL  IN  LOVE. 

Sung  by  Clara  Fisher. 

Fall  not  in  love,  dear  girls,  beware, 

Oh  never  fall  in  love ! 
Better  lead  apes — you  know  where, 

Than  ever  fall  in  love , 

For  men,  their  ends  to  gain, 

Are  cruel  when  most  kind ; 
Their  tears  are  false  as  rain, 

Their  vows  are  only  wind ; 
And  if  you  say  them  No, 

Thev  swear  their  hearts  are  broke; 
Yet  when  half  dead  with  wo, 

How  nice  and  plump  they  look. 

Fall  not  in  love,  &c 

For  if  a  rake  you  wed, 

For  better  and  fcr  worse, 
When  honey -moons  are  fled, 

Oh!  how  he'll  squeeze  your  purse: 
And  if  you  scold  at  night, 

Quite  easy  by  the  by, 
Your  husband  grown  polite, 

Yawns  most  melodiously. 

Fall  not  in  love,  &c 

THE  LAND  O'  THE  LEAL. 

Fm  wearing  awa,  Jean, 
Like  snaw  in  its  thaw,  Jean, 
Fm  wearing  awa, 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

There's  nae  sorrow  there,  Jean, 
There's  nae  cauld  nor  care,  Jean, 
The  day  is  aye  fair, 
In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 


136  THE  AMERICAN 

Ye've  been  leal  and  true,  Jean, 
Your  task's  ended  now,  Jean, 
An'  I'll  welcome  vou, 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Our  bonnv  bairn's  there,  Jean ; 
She  was  baith  gude  an'  fair,  Jean 
An'  we  grudg'd  her  sair, 
To  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Dry  that  tearfu'  e'e,  Tean ; 
My  soul  langs  to  be  free,  Jean ; 
An'  angels  wait  on  me, 
In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

Then  farewell,  my  ain  Jean, 
This  warld's  care  is  vain,  Jean ; 
We'll  meet  an'  aye  be  fain, 
In  the  land  o'  the  leal. 

THE  CANADIAN  BOAT  SONG. 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime, 

Our  voices  keep  tune,  and  our  oars  keep  time. 

Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 

We'll  sing,  at  Saint  Ann's,  our  parting  hymn. 

Row,  brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs  fast, 

The  rapids  are  near,  and  the  daylight's  past 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sails  unfurl  ? 
There's  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl ; 
But,  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore, 
Oh!  sweetly  we'll  rest  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight's  past. 

Utawa's  tide !  this  trembling  moon 
Shall  see  us  float  o'er  thy  surges  soon ; 
Saint  of  this  green  isle,  hear  our  prayers, 
Oh,  grant  us  cool  heavens,  and  favouring  airs. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  rapids  are  near  and  the  daylight  s  past 


singer's  own  book.  137 


FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER. 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  river, 

But  ere  thou  reach  the  sea, 
Seek  Ella's  bovver,  and  give  her 

The  wreaths  I  fling  o'er  thee  ; 
And  tell  her  thus,  if  she'll  be  mine, 

The  current  of  our  lives  shall  be, 
With  joys  along  their  course  to  shine, 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  on  thee. 

But  if,  in  wand'ring  thither, 

Thou  find'st  she  mocks  my  pray'r, 
Then  leave  those  wreaths  to  wither 

Upon  the  cold  bank  there ; 
And  tell  her  thus,  when  youth  is  o'er, 

Her  lone  and  lovely  charms  shall  be 
Thrown  upon  life's  weedy  shore, 

Like  those  sweet  flowers  from  thee. 

WHEN  LIFE  LOOKS  LONE  AND  DREARY 

When  life  looks  lone  and  dreary, 

What  light  can  dispel  the  gloom? 
When  time's  swift  wing  grows  wear}'-, 

What  charm  can  refresh  his  plume  ? 
'Tis  woman,  whose  sweetness  beameth 

O'er  all  that  we  feel  or  see ; 
And  if  man  of  heav'n  e'er  dreameth, 

'Tis  when  he  tlnnks  purely  of  thee, 

Oh,  woman ! 

Let  conquerors  fight  for  glory, — 

Too  dearly  the  meed  they  gain  ; 
Let  patriots  live  in  story, 

Too  often  they  die  in  vain. 
Give  kingdoms  to  those  who  choose  'em 

This  world  can  offer  to  me 
No  throne  like  beauty's  bosom, 

No  freedom  like  serving  thee, 

Oh,  woman! 


133  THE  AMERICAN 


MERMAID  SONG. 

iSung  by  Miss  Kelly, 

Follow,  follow  through  the  sea, 

To  the  mermaid's  melody: 

Safety,  freely  shalt  thou  range, 

Through  things  dreadful,  quaint,  and  strange 

And  through  liquid  walls  behold 

Wonders  that  may  not  be  told, 

Treasures  too  for  ages  lost, 

Gems  surpassing  human  cost, 

Fearless,  follow,  follow  me, 

Through  the  treasures  of  the  sea. 

THE  LAVENDER  GIRL. 
Air, — Morgiana  in  Ireland. 

As  the  sun  climbs  o'er  the  hills, 

When  the  sky-larks  sing  so  cheerily, 
I  my  little  basket  fill, 

And  trudge  along  the  village  merrily. 
Light  my  bosom,  light  my  heart, 

I  but  laugh  at  Cupid's  dart ; 
I  keep  my  mother,  myself  and  brother, 

By  trudging  along  to  sell  my  lavender. 
Ladies  try  it,  come  and  buy  it, 

Never  saw  ye  nicer  lavender. 
Ladies  try  it,  try  it,  try  it, 

Come,  come,  buy  my  lavender. 

Ere  the  gentry  quit  their  beds, 

(Foes  to  health — I'm  wisely  keeping  it) 
Oft  I  earn  my  daily  bread, 

And  sit  beneath  the  hedge  partaking  it 
Ne'er  repining,  ne'er  distress'd, 

Tell  me,  then,  am  not  I  bless'd  ? 
Though  not  wealthy,  I*m  young  and  healthy 

And  only  care  to  sell  my  lavender. 

Ladies,  try  it,  &a 


singer's  own  book.  139 


THE  HUNTER'S  HORN. 

Swift  from  the  covert  the  merry  pack  fled, 

While  hounding  they  sprang  over  valley  and  mead 

Wide  spreading  his  antlers,  erected  his  nead, 

The  stag,  his  enemies  scorning. 
O  had  you  seen  then,  through  torrent,  through  brake, 
Each  sportsman  right  gallant  his  rival  race  take, 
'T would  please  beauty's  ear  to  have  heard  echo 
wake 

To  the  hunter's  horn  in  the  morning. 


■o- 


Clear'd  was  the  forest,  the  mountain  pass'd  o'er ; 
Yet  freshly  their  riders  the  willing  steeds  bore  : 
The  river  roll'd  deep  where  the  stag  spurn'd  the 
shore, 

Yet  ow  n'd  no  timorous  warning. 
So  close  was  he  follow'd,  the  foam  where  he  sprung, 
Encircled  and  sparkled  the  coursers  among, 
While  the  dogs  of  the  chase  the  rude  melody  rung. 

To  the  hunter's  horn  in  the  morning. 


*&• 


JOHN  ANDERSON,  MY  JO. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

When  we  were  first  acquent, 
Your  locks  were  like  the  raven, 

Your  bonnie  brow  was  brent! 
But  now  your  head's  turn'd  bald,  John, 

Your  locks  are  like  the  snow, 
Yet,  blessings  on  your  frosty  pow, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

When  nature  first  began 
To  try  her  cannie  hand,  John, 

Her  master- work  was  man : 


140  THE  AMERICAN 

And  you  amang  them  a'  John, 

Sae  trig  frae  tap  to  toe, 
She  proved  to  be  nae  journey -wark, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

Ye  were  my  first  conceit, 
And  ye  need  na  think  it  strange,  John 

Though  I  ca'  ye  trim  and  neat  ; 
Though  some  folks  say  ye're  auld,  John, 

I  never  think  ye  so, 
But  I  think  ye're  aye  the  same  to  me, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

We've  seen  our  bairns'  bairns, 
And  yet,  my  dear  John  Anderson, 

I'm  happy  in  your  arms ; 
And  sae  are  ye  in  mine,  John — 

I'm  sure  ye'll  ne'er  say  no, 
Though  the  days  are  gare  that  ye  have  seen, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

What  pleasure  does  it  gie, 
To  see  sae  many  sprouts,  John, 

Spring  up  'tween  yon  and  me ; 
And  ilka  lad  and  lass,  John, 

In  our  footsteps  to  go, 
Make  perfect  heaven  here  on  earth, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

Frae  year  to  year  we've  past, 
And  soon  that  year  maun  come,  John, 

Will  bring  us  to  our  last; 
But  let  na'  that  affright  us,  John, 

Our  hearts  were  ne'er  our  foe, 
While  in  innocent  delight  we've  lived, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 


singer's  own  book.  141 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John, 

We  clamb  the  hill  thegither, 
And  monie  a  ermtie  day,  John, 

We've  had  \vi'  ane  anither: 
Now  we  maun  totter  down,  John, 

But  hand  in  hand  we'll  go, 
And  we'll  sleep  thegither  at  the  foot, 

John  Anderson,  my  jo. 

FAIREST  OF  THE  FAIR. 

O  Nannie,  wilt  thou  gang  wi'  me, 

Nor  sigh  to  leave  the  flaunting  town ; 
Can  silent  glens  have  charms  for  thee, 

The  lowly  cot,  and  russet  gown  ? 
Nae  langer  drest  in  silken  sheen, 

Nae  langer  deck'd  wi'  jewels  rare, 
Say,  canst  thou  quit  each  courtly  scene, 

Where  thou  wast  fairest  of  the  fair  1 

O  Nannie,  when  thou'rt  far  awa', 

Wilt  thou  not  cast  a  look  behind  ? 
Say,  canst  thou  face  the  flaky  siiaw, 

Nor  shrink  before  the  warping  wind  ? 
O  can  that  soft  and  gentle  mien, 

Severest  hardships  learn  to  bear 
Nor  sad  regret  each  courtly  scene, 

Where  thou  wast  fairest  of  the  fair  ? 

O  Nannie,  canst  thou  love  so  true, 

Through  perils  keen  wi'  me  to  gae  ? 
Or  when  thy  swain  mishap  shall  rue, 

To  share  with  him  the  pang  of  wae  ? 
And  when  invading  pains  befall, 

Wilt  thou  assume  the  nurse's  care, 
Nor  wishful  those  gay  scenes  recall, 

Where  thou  wast  fairest  of  the  fair 

And  when  at  last  thy  love  shall  die, 
Wilt  thou  receive  his  parting  breath  ? 

Wilt  thou  repress  each  struggling  sigh, 
And  cneer  with  smiles  the  bed  of  death? 


142  THE  AMERICAN 


And  wilt  thou  o'er  his  much  loved  clay- 
Strew  flowers,  and  drop  the  tender  tear  ? 

Nor  then  regret  those  scenes  so  gay, 
Where  thou  wast  fairest  of  the  fair  ? 


WILL  WATCH. 

*Twas  one  morn,  when  the  wind  from  the  northward 
blew  keenly, 
While  sullenly  roar'd  the  big  waves  of  the  main, 
A  famed  smuggler,  Will  Watch,  kiss'd  his  Sue,  then 
serenely 
Took  helm,  and  to  sea  boldly  steer'd  out  arain. 
Will  had  promised  his  Sue,  that  this  trip,  if  well  ended, 
Should  coil  up  his  hopes,  and  he'd  anchor  on  shore  ; 
When  his  pockets  were  lined,  why  his  life  should  be 
mended ; 
The  laws  he  had  broken  he'd  never  break  more. 

His  sea-boat  was  trim,  made  her  port,  took  her  lading, 

Then  Will  stood  for  home,  reach'd  the  offing  and 
cried, 
This  night,  if  I've  luck,  furls  the  sails  of  my  trading  ; 

In  dock  I  can  lie,  and  a  friend  serve  beside. 
Will  lay-to,  till  the  night  came  on  darksome  and 
dreary, 

To  crowdevery  sail  then  he  piped  up  each  hand  : 
But  a  signal  soon  spied,  'twas  a  prospect  uncheery, 

A  signal  that  warn'd  him  to  bear  from  the  land. 

The  Philistines  are  out,  cries  Will,  we'll  take  no  heed 
on't, 
Attack'd,  who's  the  man  that  will  flinch  from  his 
gun? 
Should  my  head  be  blown  off,  I  shall  ne'er  feel  the 
need  on't — 
We'll  fight  while  we  can  ;  when  we  can't,  boy?, 
we'll  run. 


singer's  own  book.  143 

Through  the  haze  of  the  night  a  bright  flash  now 
appearing, 
Oh !  now,  cries  Will  Watch,  the  Philistines  bear 
down ; 
Bear-a-hand,  my  tight  lads,  ere  we  think  about  sheer- 
ing, 
One  broadside  pour  in,  should  we  swim,  boys,  07 
drown. 

But  should  I  be  popp'd  off,  you,  my  mates,  left  be- 
hind me, 
Regard  my  last  words,  see  'em  kindly  obeyed : 
Let  no  stone  mark  the  spot,  and,  my  friends,  do  you 
mind  me, 
Near  the  beach  is  the  grave  where  Will  Watch 
would  be  laid. 
Poor  Will's  yarn  was  spun  out — for  a  bullet  nexi 
minute 
Laid  him  low  on  the  deck,  and  he  never  spoke 
more; 
His  bold  crew  fought  the  brig  while  a  shot  remained 
in  it, 
Then  sheer'd — and  Will's  hull  to  his  Susan  they 
bore. 

In  the  dead  of  the  night  his  last  wish  was  complied 
with, 
To  few  known  his  grave,  and  to  few  known  his 
end; 
He  was  borne  to  the  earth  by  the  crew  that  he  died 
with, 
He'd  the  tears  of  his  Susan,  the  prayers  of  each 
friend. 
Near  his  grave  dash  the  billows,  the  winds  loudly 
bellow, 
Yon  ash  struck  with  lightning,  points  out  the  cold 
bed 
Where  Will  Watch,  the  bold  smuggler,  that  famed 
lawless  fellow, 
Once  feared,  now  forgot,  sleeps  in  peace  with  the 
dead. 


144  THE  AMERICAN 


CONVENT  BELL. 

Music  by  the  late  Benjamin  Carr,  Esq. 

Far,  far  o'er  hill  and  dell 

On  the  winds  stealing, 
List  to  the  convent  bell, 

Mournfully  pealing ; 
Hark !  hark !  it  seems  to  say, 

•  As  melt  these  sounds  away, 
So  life's  best  joys  decay, 

Whilst  new  their  feeling.' 

Far,  far,  &c. 

Now  through  the  charmed  air 

Slowly  ascending, 
List  to  the  chaunted  prayer, 

Solemnly  blending; 
Hark !  hark !  it  seems  to  say, 

•  Turn  from  such  joys  away, 
To  those  which  ne'er  decay, 

Though  life  is  ending.' 

Far,  far,  &c. 

O'er  the  fallen  warrior's  tomb, 

Holy  monks  are  bending ; 
From  the  solemn  cloister's  gloom 

Hear  the  dirge  ascending  ; 
Hark !  hark !  it  seems  to  say, 

'  How  vain  is  glory's  way, 
Life's  joys  and  empire's  sway, 

In  the  dark  grave  ending.' 
Far,  far,  &c. 

So  when  our  mortal  ties, 

Death  shall  dissever, 
Lord,  may  we  reach  the  skies, 

Where  eare  comes  never; 
And  in  eternal  day, 

Joining  the  angels'  lay, 
To  our  Creator  pay 

Homage  for  ever. 

Alleluia,  Amen. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  146 


Oil!  'TIS  LOVE. 

Oh !  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  'tis  love, 

That  rules  us  all  completely, 
Oh!  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  'tis  love, 

Commands,  and  \\c  obey. 

What  in  the  palace  or  the  hovel 

Doth  chase  dull  care  away? 
What  is  the  theme  of  ev'ry  novel? 
What  is  the  plot  of  ev'ry  play  ? 
Say,  what  keeps  the  carriage 

Of  many  a  modern  miss, 
And  makes  even  marriage, 
Sometimes  a  state  of  bliss? — 
Oh !  'tis  love,  &c 

Love  yields  the  sweetest,  dearest  pleasure, 

Love  doubles  every  other  charm; 
Love  makes  the  miser  yield  his  treasure, 
Love  e'en  the  Stoic's  heart  can  warm: 
In  deserts  the  wildest, 

On  mountains  or  on  plains, 
Where  climates  are  mildest. 
Or  winter  ever  reigns. 

Oh !  'tis  love,  &c. 

SINCE  THEN  I'M  DOOMED. 

Since  then  I'm  doom'd  this  sad  reverse  to  prove, 
To  quit  each  object  of  my  infant  care ; 

Torn  from  an  honour'd  parent's  tender  love, 
And  driven  the  keenest  storms  of  fate  to  bear: 

Ah!  but  forgive  me,  pitied  let  me  part, 

Your  frowns  too  sure  would  break  my  sinking  heart 

Where'er  I  go,  whate'er  my  lowlv  state, 
Yet  grateful  mem'ry  still  shall  linger  here ! 

And  when,  perhaps,  you're  musing  o'er  my  fate, 
You  still  may  greet  me  with  a  tender  care. 

Ah!  then  forgive  me,  pitied  let  me  part, 

Your  frowns  too  sure  would  break  my  sinking  heart 
K 


146  THE  AMERICAN 


WHILST  WITH  VILLAGE  MAIDS. 

"Whilst  with  village  maids  I  stray, 
Sweetly  wears  the  joyous  day, 
Cheerful  glows  my  artless  breast, 
Mild  content  the  constant  guest. 

Whilst,  &c. 


HOURS  THERE  WERE. 

Hours  there  were  to  mem'ry  dearer 

Than  the  sunbright  scenes  of  day ; 
Friends  were  fonder,  joys  were  nearer, 

But,  alas !  they've  flea"  away ! 
Oh !  'twas  when  the  moonlight  playing 

On  the  valley's  silent  grove, 
Told  the  blissful  hour  for  straving, 

With  my  fond,  my  faithful  love- 
Oft  when  evening  faded  mildly, 

O'er  the  wave  our  bark  would  rove, 
Then  we've  heard  the  night  bird  wildly 

Breathe  his  vesper  tale  of  love. 
Songs  like  these  mv  love  would  sing  me. 

Songs  that  warble  round  me  yet: 
Ah !  but  where  does  mem'ry  lead  me — 

Scenes  like  these  I  must  forget ! 

But  in  dreams  let  love  be  near  me, 

With  the  joys  that  bloom'd  before, 
Slumbering,  then  'twill  sweetly  cheer  me 

Calm  to  live  my  pleasures  o'er. 
Then,  perhaps,  some  hopes  may  waken 

In  this  heart  depress'd  with  care, 
And  like  flowers,  in  vale  forsaken, 

Live  in  lonely  beauty  there. 


singer's  own  book.  147 


THE  LAST  BUGLE. 

flark!  the  muffled  drum  sounds  the  last  march  of 

'.he  brave, 
The  soldier  retreats  to  his  quarters,  the  grave, 
Under  Death,  whom  he  owns  his  commander  in  chief 
No  more  he'll  turn  out  with  the  ready  relief. 
But  in  spite  of  Death's  terrors  or  hostile  alarms, 
When  he  hears  the  last  bugle, 
When  he  hears  the  last  bugle,  he'll  stand  to  his  arms 

farewell,  brother  soldiers,  in  peace  may  ye  rest, 
And  light  lie  the  turf  on  each  veteran  breast, 
Until  thai  review  when  the  souls  of  the  brave 
Shall  behold  the  Chief  Ensign,  fair  Mercy's  flag, 

wave ; 
Then,  freed  from  death's  terrors  and  hostile  alarms, 
When  we  hear  the  last  bugle, 
When  we  hear  the  last  bugle,  we'll  stand  to  our  arms. 


BEHOLD  IN  HIS  SOFT. 

Behold  !  in  his  soft  expressive  face, 

Her  well  Known  features  here  I  see, 
And  here  the  gentle  smile  can  trace, 
Which  once  so  sweetly  beam'd  on  me ; 
Ah!  Rosalie! 

Ah!  Rosalie!  that  death  should  sever 
Two  hearts  that  could  have  lov'd  for  ever 

Here  I  could  fancy  I  beheld 

In  thee,  sweet  boy,  her  heavenly  charms ; 
Could  think,  by  hope  and  love  impell'd, 
I  clasp'd  her  offspring  in  my  arms. 
My  child  !  my  child  ! 
My  child,  like  this,  was  lovely  ever, 
Till  death  decreed  our  hearts  to  sever. 


148  THE  AMERICAN 

OH,  LADY  FAIR. 

First  voice. 

Oh  lady  fair,  where  art  thou  roaming  ? 
The  sun  has  sunk,  the  night  is  coming. 

Second  voice. 

Stranger,  I  go  o'er  moor  and  mountain, 
To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  Fountain. 

First  voice. 

And  who  is  the  man  with  his  white  locks  flowing  1 
Oh  lady  fair,  where  is  he  going  ? 

Third  voice. 

A  wand'ring  pilgrim  weak  I  falter, 
To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  altar. 

Trio. 

Chill  falls  the  rain,  night  winds  are  blowing, 
Dreary  and  dark's  the  way  we're  going. 

First  voice. 

Fair  lady !  rest  till  morning  blushes, 
I'll  strew  for  thee  a  bed  of  rushes. 

Second  voice. 

Oh !  stranger,  when  my  beads  I'm  counting, 
I'll  bless  thy  name  at  Agues'  Fountain. 

First  voice. 

Thou,  pilgrim,  turn  and  rest  thy  sorrow, 
Thou'lt  go  to  Agnes'  shrine  to-morrow 

Third  voice. 

Good  stranger!  when  my  beads  I'm  telling, 
My  saint  shall  bless  thy  leaty  dwelling. 

Trio. 

Strew  then,  oh,  strew  our  bed  of  rushes, 
Here  we  shall  rest  till  morning  blushes. 


V* 


singer's  own  book.  149 


BLACK-EYED  SUSAN. 

All  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moor'd, 

The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind, 
When  black-eyed  Susan  came  on  board: 

"Oh!  where  shall  I  my  true  love  find? 
Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors,  tell  me  true, 
Does  my  sweet  William  sail  among  your  crew?' 

William,  who,  high  upon  the  yard, 

Rock'd  with  the  billows  to  and  fro; 
Soon  as  her  well-known  voice  he  heard, 

He  sigh'd  and  cast  his  eyes  below. 
The  cord  slides  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands, 
And,  quick  as  lightning,  on  the  deck  he  stands. 

So  the  sweet  lark,  high  poised  in  air, 

Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast, 
If,  chance,  his  mate's  shrill  note  he  hear, 

And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest. 
The  noblest  captain  in  the  British  fleet 
Might  envy  William's  lips  those  kisses  sweet. 

"O,  Susan!  Susan!  lovely  dear! 

My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain, 
Let  me  kiss  off  that  falling  tear, 

We  only  part  to  meet  again. 
Change,  as  ye  list,  ye  winds,  my  heart  shall  be 

The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee 

"  Believe  not  what  the  landsmen  say, 

Who  tempt,  with  doubts,  thy  constant  mind. 

They'll  tell  thee,  sailors,  when  away, 
In  ev'ry  port  a  mistress  find — 

Yes,  yes,  believe  them  when  they  tell  thee  so 

For  thou  art  present  wheresoe'er  I  go. 

"If  to  far  India's  coast  we  sail, 

Thine  eyes  are  seen  in  diamonds  bright  j 

Thy  breath  is  Afric's  spicy  gale ; 
Thy  skin  is  ivory  so  white : 


150  THE  AMERICAN 


Thus  ev'ry  beauteous  object  that  I  view, 
Wakes  in  ray  soul  some  charm  of  lovely  Sue. 

"  Though  battle  calls  me  from  thy  arms, 

Let  not  my  pretty  Susan  mourn ; 
Though  cannons  roar,  yet  safe  from  harms 

William  shall  to  his  dear  return ; 
Love  turns  aside  the  balls  that  round  me  fly, 
Lest  precious  tears  should  drop  from  Susan's  eye. 

The  boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word, 
The  sails  their  swelling  bosoms  spread ; 

No  longer  must  she  slay  aboard  ; 
They  kiss'd  ;  she  sigh'd  ;  he  bung  his  head. 

Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land! 

"  Adieu !"  she  cried,  and  waved  her  lily  hand. 


>> 


DRAW  THE  SWORD,  SCOTLAND. 

Draw  the  sword,  Scotland!  Scotland!  Scotland! 
O'er  moor  and  o'er  mountain  hath  pass'd  the  war 


sign 


The  pibroch  is  pealing,  pealing,  pealing, 

"Who  heeds  not  the  summons  is  nae  son  o'  thine. 
The  clans  they  are  gathering,  gathering,  gathering, 

The  clans  they  are  gathering,  by  loch  and  by  lea \ 
The  banners  they  are  flying,  flying,  flying, 

The  banners  they  are  flying  that  lead  to  victory. 
Draw  the  sword,  Scotland !  Scotland  !  Scotland  ! 

Charge  as  ye  have  charged  in  days  lang  syne. 
Sound  to  the  onset !  onset !  onset ! 

He  who  but  falters  is  nae  son  o'  thine ! 

Sheathe  the  sword,  Scotland  !  Scotland  !  Scotland ! 

Sheathe  the  sword,  Scotland !  for  dimm'd  is  its  shine. 
Thy  foemen  are  flying,  flying,  flying, 

And  who  kens  nae  mercy  is  nae  son  o'  thine. 
The  struggle  is  over,  over,  over, 

The  struggle  is  over,  the  victory  won: 
There  are  tears  for  the  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 

And  glory  for  all  who  their  duty  have  done. 


singer's  own  book.  151 

Sheathe  the  iword,  Scotland!  Scotland!  Scotland! 

With  thy  loved  thistle  new  laurels  entwine: 
Time  ne'er  shall  part  theni,  part  them,  part  (hem, 

But  hand  down  the  garland  to  each  son  o'  tliine 

GIVE  ME,  MY  LOVE. 

Give  me,  niv  love,  the  roseate  flower 

'  mm        t+ 

I  saw  thee  cull  from  yonder  bower, 
And  with  the  gift  I  ne'er  will  part, 

But  fondly  wear  it  next  my  heart- 
Then  if  perchance  I  feel  a  thorn, 

'Tis  but  an  emblem  of  thy  scorn ; 
Yet,  not  the  thorn  shall  make  us  part, 

Still  will  I  wear  it  next  my  heart- 

WHERE  ROSES  WILD. 

Where  roses  wild  were  blowing, 

There  stood  an  humble  cot, 
Around  it  streams  were  flowing, 

Contentment  blest  the  spot. 
But  .human  bliss  is  fleeting, 

And  joy  is  but  a  flower, 


•o-» 


The  heart  with  sorrow  meeting, 
Will  wither  'neath  its  power. 

This  peaceful  habitation 

Contain' d  a  beauteous  maid, 
No  flow'ret  in  creation, 

Such  sweetness  e'er  display'd 
In  youth  of  beauty  beaming, 

Celestial  was  its  ray, 
Love  came  with  artful  seeming 

And  stole  that  bloom  away. 

And  now  the  eot*s  forsaken, 
The  garden's  all  a  waste, 

Their  ruin'd  charms  awaken 
Sad  feelings  in  the  breast- 


152  THE  AMERICAN 

No  roses  now  are  blowing, 
Where  smil'd  the  happy  cot, 

But  thorns  and  weeds  are  growing, 
And  gloom  o'ershades  the  spot. 


LOVE  HAS  EYES. 

Love's  blind,  they  say — 
O  never,  nay, 
Can  words  love's  grace  impart? 
The  fancy  weak, 
The  tongue  may  speak, 
But  eyes  alone  the  heart ; 
In  one  soft  look  what  language  lies ! 
O,  yes,  believe  me,  love  has  eyes. 

Love's  w7ingVi,  they  cry — 
O,  never,  I 
No  pinions  have  to  soar : 
Deceivers  rove, 
But  never  love ; 
Attach'd  he  roves  no  more  : 
Can  he  have  wings,  who  never  flies? 
Oh,  yes,  believe  me,  love  has  eyes. 


DESERTED  BY  THE  WANING  MOON 

Deserted  by  the  waning  moon, 

When  skies  proclaim  night's  cheerless  noon, 

On  tower,  or  fort,  or  tented  ground, 

The  sentry  walks  his  lonely  round : 

And  should  a  footstep  haply  stray 

Where  caution  marks  the  guarded  way — 

Who  goes  there  ?  stranger,  quickly  tell ; 

A  friend! — a  friend! — good  night! — all's  well 

Or  sailing  on  the  midnight  deep, 
While  weary  messmates  soundly  sleep, 
The  careful  watch  patroles  the  deck, 
To  guard  the  ship  from  foes  or  wreck : 


singer's  own  book.  153 

And  while  his  thoughts  oft  homeward  veer. 
Some  well  known  voice  salutes  his  ear — 
What  cheer!  oh!  brother,  quickly  tell, 
Above! — below! — good  night! — all's  well. 


BOYS  OF  SWITZERLAND. 

Our  eot  was  shelter'd  by  a  wood, 
And  near  a  lake's  green  margin  stood ; 
A  mountain  bleak  behind  us  frown'd, 
Whose  top  the  snow  in  summer  crown'd. 
But  pastures  rich  and  warm  to  boot, 
Lav  smiling  at  the  mountain's  foot ; 
There  first  we  froliek'd  hand  in  hand, 
Two  infant  boys  of  Switzerland. 

When  scarcely  old  enough  to  know 
The  meaning  of  a  tale  of  woe, 
Tvvas  then  by  mother  we  were  told 
That  father  in  his  grave  lav  cold  ; 
That  livelihoods  were  hard  to  get, 
And  we  too  young  to  labour  yet; 
And  tears  within  her  eyes  would  stand, 
For  her  two  boys  of  Switzerland. 

But  soon  for  mother,  as  we  grew, 
We  work'd  as  much  as  boys  could  do ; 
Our  daily  gains  to  her  we  bore  : — 
But  ah!  she'll  ne'er  receive  them  more. 
For  long  wo  watch'd  beside  her  bed, 
Then  sobb'd  to  see  her  lie  there  dead : 
And  now  we  wander  hand  in  hand, 
Two  orphan  boys  of  Switzerland. 

IS  THERE  A  HEART  THAT  NEVER  LOVED 

Is  there  a  heart  lhat  never  lov'd, 

Or  felt  soft  woman's  wgh  ? 
Is  there  a  man  can  mark  unmov'd, 

Dear  woman's  tearful  ey< 


154  THE  AMERICAN 

Oh !  bear  him  to  some  distant  shore 

Or  solitary  cell, 
Where  nought  but  savage  monsters  roar, 

Where  love  ne'er  deign'd  to  dwell. 

For  there's  a  charm  in  woman's  eye, 

A  Language  in  her  tear  ; 
A  spell  in  e\ery  sacred  sigh, 

To  man,  to  virtue  dear; 
And  he  who  can  resist  her  smiles, 

With  brutes  alone  should  live, 
Nor  taste  that  joy  which  care  beguiles, 

That  joy  her  virtues  give. 


THE  BAY  OF  BISCAY,  O 

Loud  roar'd  the  dreadful  thunder, 

The  rain  a  deluge  show'rs ! 
The  clouds  were  rent  asunder, 
By  lighl'ning's  vivid  pow'rs! 
The  night  both  drear  and  dark! 
Our  poor  devoted  bark, 
Till  next  day, 
There  she  lay, 

In  the  bay  of  Biscay,  O! 

Now  dash'd  upon  the  billows, 
Our  op'ning  timbers  creak ; 
Each  fears  a  wat'ry  pillow, 
None  stop  the  dreadful  leak! 
To  cling  the  slipp'ry  shrouds 
Each  breathless  seaman  crowds, 
As  she  lav, 
Till  next  day, 

In  the  bay  of  Biscay,  O 

At  length  the  wish'd  for  morrow 
Broke  through  the  hazy  sky; 

Absorb'd  in  silent  sorrow, 
Each  heav'd  the  bitter  sigh; 


singer's  own  book.  155 

The  dismal  wreck  to  view 
Struck  horror  to  the  crew, 

As  she  lay, 

On  that  day, 

In  the  bay  of  Biscay,  O ! 

Her  yielding  timbers  sever, 

Her  pitchy  seams  are  rent; 
When  heav'n,  all  beroiteouo  ever, 
Its  boundless  mercy  sent! 
A  sail  in  sight  appears, 
We  hail  it  with  three  cheers! 
Now  we  sail, 
With  the  gale, 

From  the  bay  of  Biscay,  O ! 


THE  TRUE  YANKEE  SAILOR. 

When  a  boy,  Harry  Bluffleft  his  friends  and  his  home, 
And  his  dear  native  land,  o'er  the  ocean  to  roam; 
Like  a  sapling  he  sprung,  he  was  fair  to  the  view. 
He  was  true  Yankee  oak,  boys,  the  older  he  grew, 
Though  his  body  was  weak,  and  his  hands  they  were 

soft, 
When  the  signal  was  given  he  was  first  man  aloft, 
And  the  veterans  all  cried,  he'd  one  day  lead  the  van, 
In  the  heart  of  a  boy  was  the  soul  of  a  man — 
And  he  lived  like  a  true  Yankee  sailor. 

When  to  manhood  promoted  and  burning  for  fame, 

Still  in  peace  or  in  war,  Harry  Bluff  was  the  same 

So  true  to  his  love,  and  in  battle  so  brave, 

That  the  myrtle  and  laurel  entwin'd  o'er  his  grave. 

For  his  country  he  fell,  when,  by  victory  crown'd, 

The  Hag,  shot  away,  fell  in  tatters'  around,- 

And  the  foe  thought  he'd  struck,  but  he  sung  out, 

Avast ! 
For  Columbia's  colours  he  nail'd  to  the  mast, 
And  he  died  like  a  true  Yankee  sailor 


1.56  THE  AMERICAN 

MEET  ME  BY  MOONLIGHT 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Meet  me  by  moonlight  alone, 

And  then  I  will  tell  yon  a  tale, 
Must  be  told  by  the  moonlight  alone, 

In  the  grove  at  the  end  of  the  vale, 
You  must  promise  to  come,  for  I  said 

I  would  show  the  night  flowers  their  queen. 
Nay,  turn  not  away  thy  sweet  head, 

'Tis  the  loveliest  ever  was  seen. 
Oh !  meet  me  by  moonlight  alone. 

Daylight  may  do  for  the  gay, 

The  thoughtless,  the  heartless,  the  free; 
But  there's  something  about  the  moon's  ray, 

That  is  sweeter  to  you  and  to  me. 
OhJ-remember  be  sure  to  be  there, 

For  though  dearly  a  moonlight  I  prize, 
I  care  not  for  all  in  the  air, 

If  I  want  the  sweet  light  of  your  eyes. 
So  meet  me  by  moonlight  alone. 

THE  MINSTREL  BOY. 

The  minstrel  boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you'll  find  him; 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him. 
"Land  of  song!"  said  the  warrior  bard, 

"Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee, 
"One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard, 

"One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee." 

The  minstrel  fell !  but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under ; 
The  harp  he  lov'd  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

"  Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery! 
••  Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  fre 

"  They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  " 


singer's  own  book.  ];Y7 

OH!  WHY  SHOULD  THE  GIRL. 

Oh!  why  should  the  girl  of  my  soul  be  in  tears, 

At  a  meeting  of  rapture  like  this, 
When  the  gloom  of  the  past  and  the  sorrows  of  years 

Have  been  paid  by  the  moment  of  bliss. 

Are  they  shed  for  that  moment  of  blissful  delight, 

Which  dwells  on  her  memory  vet ; 
Do  they  flow  like  the  dews  of  the  love  breathing  night, 

From  the  warmth  of  the  sun  that  has  set. 

Oh!  sweet  is  the  tear  on  that  languishing  smile, 

That  smile  which  is  loveliest  then ; 
And  if  such  arc  the  drops  that  delight  can  beguile, 

Thou  shalt  weep  them  again  and  again. 

HOME,  SWEET  HOME. 

An  additional  verse  by  J.  M.  Brown. 

'Mid  pleasure  and  palaces,  though  we  may  roam, 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like  home ; 
A  charm  from  the  skies,  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  ne'er  met  with 
elsewhere. 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home, 

There's  no  place  like  home. 

1  gaze  on  the  moon,  as  I  trace  the  drear  wild, 
And  feel  that  my  parent  now  thinks  of  her  child  ; 
She  looks  on  that  moon  from  our  own  cottage  door 
Through  woodbines  whose  fragrance  shall  cheer  me 
no  more. 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home,  <5jc. 

An  exile  from  home,  splendour  dazzles  in  vain, 
O  give  me  my  lowly,  thatch'd  cottage  again; 
The  birds  singing  gaily  that  came  at  my  call, 
Give  me  them  with  the  peace  of  mind,  dearer  than 
all. 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home,  &c 


158  THE  AMERICAN 


WITH  HELMET  ON  HIS  BROW. 

Sung  by  Mr  Povey. 

With  helmet  on  his  brow,  and  sabre  on  his  thigh, 
The  soldier  mounts  his  gallant  steed  to  conquer  or  to 

die : 
His  plume,  like  a  pennon,  streams  on  the  wanton 

summer  wind, 
In  the  path  of  glory  still  that  white  plume  shalt  thou 

find ; 
Then  let  the  trumpet's  blast  to  the  brazen  drum 

reply, 
'A  soldier  must  with  honour  live,  or  at  once  with 

honour  die.'  « 

O  bright  as  his  own  good  sword,  a  soldier's  fame 

must  be, 
And  pure  as  the  plume  that  floats  above  his  helm,  so 

white  and  free, 
No  fear  in  his  heart  must  dwell,  but  the  Oread  that 

shame  may  throw 
One  spot  upon  that  blade  so  bright,  one  stain  on  that 

plume  of  snow ; 
Then  let  the  trumpet's  blast  to  the  brazen  drum 

reply, 
'A  soldier  must  with  honour  live,  or  at  once  with 

honour  die.' 

REST,  WARRIOR,  REST. 

He  comes  from  the  wars,  from  the  red  field  of  fight ! 
He  comes  through  the  storm,  and  the  darkness  of 

night ! 
For  rest  and  for  refuge  now  fain  to  implore, 
The  warrior  bends  low  at  the  cottager's  door ; 
Pale,  pale  is  his  cheek,  there's  a  gash  on  his  brow, 
His  locks  o'er  his  shoulders  distractedlv  flow ; 
And  the  fire  of  his  heart  shoots  by  fits  from  his  eye, 
Like  a  languishing  lamp,  that  just  flashes  to  die 

Rest,  warrior  rest. 


singer's  own  book.  159 

Sunk  in  silence  and  Bleep  in  ihe  cottager's  bed, 
Oblivion  shall  visit  the  war-weary  head; 
Perchance  he  may  dream,  but  ihe  vision  shall  tell, 
Of  his  lady-love's  bower  and  her  latest  farewell; 
Love's  illusion  shall  banish  the  battle's  alarms, 
He  shall  dream  that  his  mistress  lies  lock'd  in  his 

arms ; 
He  shall  feel  on  his  lips  the  sweet  warmth  of  her 

kiss — 
Ah !  warrior,  awake  not !  such  slumber  is  bliss ! 

Rest,  warrior,  rest. 

GAILY  SOUNDS  THE  CASTANET. 

Gailv  sounds  the  Castanet, 

Beating  time  to  bounding  feet, 
When,  after  daylight's  golden  set, 

Maids  and  youths  by  moonlight  meet. 

Oh  !  then,  how  sw  cot  to  move 

Through  all  that  maze  of  mirth, 
Lighted  by  those  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  eyes  on  earth. 

Then  the  joyous  banquet  spread 
On  the  cool  and  fragrant  ground, 

With  night's  bright  eye-beams  o'er  head; 
And  still  brighter  sparkling  round. 

Oh !  then,  how  sweet  to  say 

Into  the  lov'd  one's  ear, 
Thoughts  rescrv'd  through  many  a  day, 

To  be  thus  whisperd  there. 

When  the  dance  and  feast  are  done, 

Arm  and  arm  as  home  we  st"ay, 
How  r?      t  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  cheek's  warm  blushes  play 

Then,  then  the  farewell  kiss, 

And  words  whose  parting  tone 
Lingers  still  in  dreams  of  bliss, 

That  haunt  young  hearts  ak  no. 


160  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  CAMPBELLS  ARE  COMIN. 

The  Campbells  are  comin,  O  ho,  O  ho! 

The  Campbells  are  comin,  O  ho,  O  ho ! 
The  Campbells  are  comin  to  bonnie  Loehlevezi, 

The  Campbells  are  comin,  O  ho,  O  ho ! 

Upon  the  Lemons  I  lay,  I  lay, 

Upon  the  Lemons  I  lay,  I  lay, 
[  looked  down  to  bonnie  Lochleven, 

And  heard  the  bonnie  pibrochs  play 

The  Campbells,  &a 

Great  Argyle,  he  goes  before, 
He  makes  his  cannons  loudly  roar, 
Wi'  sound  of  trumpet,  pipe  and  drum, 
The  Campbells  are  comin,  O  ho,  O  ho ! 

The  Campbells,  &c 

The  Campbells,  they  are  a'  in  arms, 
Their  loyal  faith  and  truth  to  show, 

Wi'  banners  rattling  in  the  wind, 
The  Campbells  are  comin,  O  ho,  O  ho ! 

The  Campbells,  &e- 

THE  MINUTE  GUN  AT  SEA. 

Let  him  who  sighs  in  sadness  here, 
Rejoice  and  know  a  friend  is  near ; 
What  heav'nly  sounds  are  those  I  hear  ? 
What  being  comes  the  gloom  to  cheer  ? 

When  in  the  storm  on  Albion's  coast, 
The  night-watch  guards  his  weary  post, 

From  thoughts  of  danger  free  ; 
He  marks  some  vessel's  dusky  form, 
And  hears,  amid  the  howling  storm, 

The  minute  gun  at  sea. 

Swift  from  the  shore  a  hardy  few 
The  life-boat  man,  with  gallant  crew, 


BIlfOBR'fl  OWN  BOOK.  101 

And  dare  the  dang'rous  wave; 
Through  the  wild  surf  they  cleave  their  way. 
Lost  in  the  foam,  nor  know  dismay, 

For  they  go  the  crew  to  save. 

But  oh!  what  rapture  tills  each  breast, 
Of  the  hapless  crew  of  the  ship  distress'd; 
Then  landed  safe,  what  joy  to  tell 
Of  all  the  dangi  rs  that  betelL 

Then  is  heard  no  more, 

By  the  watch  on  the  shore, 

The  minute  gun  at  sea. 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Oh  years  have  flown  since  first  we  met, 

And  sorrows  have  been  mine  ! 
I've  often  thought  with  fond  regret, 
On  auld  lane  svne. 

p'or  auld  lang  syne  my  dear. 

For  auld  lang  syne  ; 
We'll  take  a  cupo'  kindness  yet, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

I  felt,  when  to  thy  bosom  press'd, 
That  greater  joys  were  mine  ; 

Than  e'er  my  youthful  heart  had  known. 
In  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  &c 

Though  fortune  points  thy  path  of  life, 

Far,  far  away  from  mine; 
The  hour  may  be  when  next  we  meet. 

An  auld  lansz  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  &*j. 

Then  fare-thee-wcll.  if  thou  art  bless'd, 

Thy  friend  will  not  repine; 
But  some  time  give  a  kindly  thought, 
To  auld  lang  sync. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  Szc 
L 


162  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  CARRIER  PIGEON. 

Come  hither,  thou  beautiful  rover, 

Thou  wanderer  of  earth  and  of  air;. 
Who  bearest  the  sighs  of  the  lover, 

And  bringest  him  news  of  his  fair: 
Send  hither  thy  light  waving  pinion, 

And  show  me  the  gloss  of  thy  neck  y 
0 !  perch  on  my  hand,  dearest  minion, 

And  turn  up  thy  bright  eye  and  peek. 

Here  is  bread  of  the  whitest  and  s\\  eetest,. 

And  there  is  a  sip  of  red  wine  ; 
Though  thy  wing  is  the  lightest  and  fleetest, 

'Twill  be  fleeter,  when  nerv'd  by  the  viae, 
I  have  written  on  rose-scented  paper, 

With  thy  wing-quill,  a  soft  billet-doux,. 
I  have  melted  the  wax  in  love's  taper, 

'Tis  the  colour  of  true  hearts,  sky-blue. 

1  have  fasten Td  it  under  thy  pinion, 

With  a  blue  ribbon  round  thy  soft  neck; 
So  go  from  me,  beautiful  minion, 

While  the  pure  ether  shows  not  a  speck. 
Like  a  cloud  in  the  dim  distance  fleeting, 

Like  an  arrow  he  hurries  away ; 
And  farther  and  farther  retreating, 

He  is  lost  in  the  clear  blue  of  day. 


THE  WAY-WORN  TRAVELLER 

faint  and  wearily  the  way-worn  traveller 

Plods  uncheerily,  afraid  to  stop; 
Wand'ring  drearily,  and  sad  unraveller 

Of  the  maze  towards  the  mountain's  top. 
Doubting,  fearing,  while  his  course  he's  steering, 

Cottages  appearing  as  he's  nigh  to  drop — 
Oh!  h)\v  briskly  then  the  way-worn  traveller 

Treads  the  maze  towards  the  mountain's  top* 


'o> 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  ]<?!' 


Though  so  melancholy  day  has  pass'd  by, 

Twould  be  folly  to  think  on't  more  ; 
Blithe  and  jolly  he  the  can  holds  fast  by 

As  he's  sitting  at  the  goatherd's  door: 
Eating,  quaffing,  at  past  labour  laughing, 

Better  far  by  half  in  spirits  than  before- 
Oh !  how  merrily  the  rested  traveller 

Sings  while  sitting  at  the  goatherd's  door 


TOM  STARBOARD. 

Tom  Starboard  was  a  lover  true, 

As  brave  a  tar  as  ever  sail'd  ; 
The  duties  ablest  seamen  do, 

Tom  did,  and  never  yet  had  fail'd. 
But  wreck'd  as  he  was  homeward  bound, 

Within  a  league  of  England's  coast, 
Love  saved  him  sure  from  being  drown'd, 

For  more  than  half  the  crew  were  lost. 

In  fight  Tom  Starboard  knew  no  fear  ; 

Nay,  when  he  lost  an  arm,  resign'd, 
Said,  love  for  Nan,  his  only  dear, 

*Had  saved  his  life,  and  fate  was  kind: 
And  now,  though  wreck'd,  yet  Tom  retum'd, 

Of  all  past  dangers  made  a  joke  ; 
For  still  his  manly  bosom  burn'd 

With  love — his  heart  was  heart  of  oak. 

His  strength  restor'd,  Tom  nobly  ran 

To  cheer  his  Nan,  his  destin'd  bride  ; 
But  false  report  had  brought  to  Nan, 

Six  months  before,  that  Tom  had  died 
With  grief  she  daily  pin'd  away, 

No  remedy  her  life  could  save ; 
And  Tom  retum'd — the  verv  day 

They  laid  his  Nancy  in  the  grave. 


164  THE  AMERICAN 


A  SOLDIER'S  TH£  LAD. 

A  soldier's  the  lad  for  my  notion, 
A  soldier's  the  lad  fur  my  notion : 
We  girls  must  allow, 
That  his  row  de  dow,  dow, 
Sets  the  hearts  cf  his  hearers  in  monor. ; 
With  his  row  de  dow,  row  de  dow, 
Oh !  a  soldier's  the  lad  for  my  notion 

Then  the  air  militaire, 

So  delightfully  inspiring; 
To  a  soldier  my  heart  is  devoted, 
To  a  soldier  my  heart  is  devoted ; 
For  who  like  a  soldier  can  love. 

With  his  row  de  dow,  dow,  &c. 


I'LL  WATCH  FOR  THEE. 

I'll  watch  for  thee  from  my  lonely  bower, 
Come  over  the  sea  at  the  twilight  hour ; 

But  when  the  day 

Passes  away, 
Come  when  the  nightingale  sings  on  the  tree , 

Come,  remove 

Doubts  of  my  love  : 
But  if  thou  lovest  me  not,  come  not  to  me. 

Why  didst  thou  say,  I  was  brighter  far, 
Than  the  bright  ray  of  the  evening  star  ? 

Why  didst  thou  come 

Seeking  my  home, 
Till  I  believed  thy  vows  were  sincere  ? 

Oh  !  if  thy  vow 

Wearies  thee  now, 
Though  I  may  weep  for  thee — never  come  hera. 


SINGER  S  OWN  ROOK.  105 


TOM  BOWLING. 

Hero,  a  sheer  hulk,  lies  poor  Tom  Bowling, 

The  darling  of  our  crew; 
No  more  he'll  hear  the  tempest  howling, 

For  death  has  broach'd  him  to. 
His  form  was  of  the  manliest  beauty, 

His  heart  was  kind  and  soft ; 
Faithful  below  he  did  his  duty, 

And  now  he's  gone  aloft. 

Tom  never  from  his  word  departed, 

His  virtues  were  so  rare  ; 
His  friends  were  many  and  truehearted, 

His  Poll  was  kind  and  fair: 
And  then  he'd  sing  so  blithe  and  jolly, 

Ah,  many's  the  time  and  oft ! 
But  mirth  is  turn'd  to  melancholy, 

For  Tom  is  gone  aloft. 

Yet  shall  poor  Tom  find  pleasant  weather, 

When  he  who  all  commands 
Shall  give,  to  call  life's  crew  together, 

The  word  to  pipe  all  hands. 
Thus  Death,  who  kings  and  tars  dispatches, 

In  vain  Tom's  life  has  doff'd  ; 
Fcr,  though  his  body's  under  hatches, 

His  soul  is  gone  aloft. 


I  KNOW  A  BANK. 

I  know  a  hank  whereon  the  wild  thyme  blows, 
Where  oxlips  and  the  nodding  violet  grows; 
Quite  overcanopied  with  luscious  woodbine, 
With  sweet  musk  roses,  and  with  eglantine; 
There  sleeps  Titania  some  time  of  the  night, 
Lull'd  in  these  flowers  with  dances  and  delight. 


166  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  SOLDIER  TIRED. 

The  soldier,  tired  of  war's  alarms, 
Forswears  the  clang  of  hostile  arms, 

And  scorns  the  spear  and  shield  ; 
Bat  if  the  brazen  trumpet  sound, 
He  burns  with  conquest  to  be  crown'd, 

And  dares  again  the  field. 

THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS. 

There  is  not  in  the  wide  wcrld  a  valley  so  sweet, 
As  that  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet; 
Oh!  the  last  rays  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  from  my  heart. 

Yet  it  was  not  that  nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  green  : 
'Twas  not  the  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill, 
Oh !  no, — it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

'Twas  that  friends,  the  beloved  of  my  bosom,  were 

near, 
Who  made  each  dear  scene  of  enchantment  more 

dear, 
And  who  felt  how  the  blest  charms  of  nature  improve, 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Ovoca!  how  calm  could  I  rest 

In  thy  bosom  of  shade  with  the  friends  I  love  best, 

Where  the  storms  which  we  feel  in  this  cold  world 

should  cease, 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace 

MY  HEART  WITH  LOVE  IS  BEATING. 

My  heart  with  love  is  beating, 

Transported  by  your  eyes ; 
Alas !  there's  no  retreating, 

In  vain  the  captive  flies. 


■sra&EiTs  own  book.  167 

Then  why  such  anger  cherish  ? 

Why  turn  those  eyes  away  ? 
For  if  yen  bid  me  perish, 

Alas !  I  must  obey. 

Could  deeds  my  heart  discover, 

Could  valour  gain  thy  charms, 
I'd  prove  myself  a  lover, 

Against  a  world  in  arms. 
Proud  lair,  thus  low  before  thee, 

A  prostrate  warrior  view ; 
Whose  love,  delight  and  glory, 

Are  centered  in  you. 

WHEN  MORNING'S  LIGHT  IS  GENTLY 

BREAKING. 

When  morning's  light  is  gently  breaking, 

Along  the  ocean's  placid  tide ; 
And  when  the  breeze  is  first  awaking, 
O'er  the  wave  we  gaily  ride. 

Unfurl  the  sail,  with  caution  steer, 
The  wily  nets  prepare.; 
To  yonder  crag  our  barque  we'll  bring, 
And  seize  with  joy  the  ocean's  king: 

The  wily  nets  prepare; 
To  yonder  crag  our  barque  we'll  bring; 
Our  barque  to  anchor  bring, 
And  seize  with  joy  the  ocean's  king. 

We  leave  our  huts  when  day  is  dawning, 

And  mark  the  bright  sun's  early  ray; 
And  then  all  toil  and  danger  scorning, 
O'er  waves  of  blue  we  speed  away. 

Our  barque  rides  gaily  on  again, 
In  silence  o'er  the  main; 
And  when  the  western  breezes  spring, 
We  fieize  with  joy  the  ocean's  king. 
Ic  silence  o'er,  &c 


16&  THE    AMERICAN 


I'VE  GAZED  UPON  THY  SUNNY  SMILE. 

Words  by  Carolus. — Air,  Love's  Young  Dream. 

I've  gazed  upon  thy  sunny  smile, 

In  silent  joy ; 
I've  mark'd  the  rose-tint  on  thy  cheek — 

Thy  beauteous  eye. 
I've  seen  thy  beauty  ripen  more, 

And  stronger  glow ; 
I  saw  thee  in  thy  youthful  prime — 

I  see  thee  now ! 

I've  view'd  the  early  rose,  at  morn, 

Whose  fragrant  sigh 
Breathed  sweetness  to  the  summer  air, 

And  flovv'rets  nigh : 
I  look'd  at  eve — alas!  the  storm 

Had  spoil'd  the  gem ; 
Its  leaves  were  scatter'd — none  remain'd 

Upon  the  stem. 

I've  wept  to  think  that  age  will  dim 

Thy  beaming  eye ; 
That  care  may  wash  from  off  thy  cheek 

The  sweetest  dye. 
To  mark  the  change  would  break  my  heart, 

If  swiftly  wrought ; 
But  care  and  sorrow  slowly  steal 

And  damp  each  thought 

NOTHING  TRUE  BUT  HEAVEN. 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 

For  man's  illusion  given ; 
The  smiles  of  joy,  the  tears  of  wo, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow — 

There's  nothing  true  but  heal  en! 


singer's  own  book.  100 

And  false  the  light  on  glory's  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  even  ; 
And  love,  and  hope,  and  beauty's  bloom, 
Are  blossoms  gathered  for  the  tomb — 

There's  nothing  bright  but  heaven! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day  ! 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven; 
And  fancy's  flash,  and  reason's  ray, 
Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way — 

There's  nothing  calm  but  heaven! 

SIIE  IS  FAR  FFvOM  THE  LAND. 
•     Air, — Open  the  Door. 

She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleeps 

And  lovers  around  her  are  sighing, 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weeps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying! 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Ev'ry  note  which  he  loved  awaking — 

Ah  !  little  they  think,  who  delight  in  her  strains, 
How  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking! 

He  had  lived  for  his  love,  for  his  country  he  died! 

They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwifi'd  him, — 
Xor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried, 

Xor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him ! 

Oh !  make  hor  a  Grave,  where  the  sunbeams  rest, 
When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow ; 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the 
west, 
From  her  own  lov'd  island  of  sorrow ! 

THE  DOWNY  CHEEK. 

The  downy  cheek  so  red,  so  fair, 

The  bosom's  snowy  whiteness, 
The  pouting  lips  so  red,  so  rare, 

The  eye  with  sparkling  brightness, 


!T>  THE  AMERICAN 

Are  beauties  like  the  summer  leaf, 
Which  length  of  years  decay, 

Which  envious  time,  that  cruel  thief, 
Will  surely  steal  away. 

But  when  conjoined  with  them,  we  find 

Charms  that  surpass  all  beauty, 
A  virtuous  heart,  a  feeling  mind, 

Our  love  becomes  a  duty. 
Then  mad  are  those  who  madly  range. 

To  all  but  beauty  blind, 
For  time  nor  place  can  ever  change, 

The  beauties  ef  the  mind. 


BONNIE  DOON. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o1  bonnie  Doon, 

How7  can  ye  bloom  sac  fresh  and  fair! 
How  can  ye  chaunt,  ye  little  birds, 

And  I  sae  weary  fu'  o'  care  ? 
Thou'lt  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling  bird 

That  wanton'st  through  the  flowery  thorn-; 
Thou  mind^st  me  of  departed  joys, 

Departed  never  to  return. 

Oft  have  I  rovM  by  bonnie  Doon, 

To  see  the  rose  and  woodbine  twine.; 
And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  love, 

And  fondly  sae  did  Io'  mine : 
WP  lightsome  heart,  I  pu'd  a  rose, 

Fu'  sweet  upon  its  thorny  tree, 
And  my  fause  lover  staw  my  rose, 

But  ah !  he  left  the  thorn  wi'  me* 


THE  LAST  WHISTLE. 

Whether  sailor  or  not,  for  a  moment  avast! 
Poor  Jack's  mizen-topsail  is  laid  to  the  mast ; 
He'll  never  turn  out,  nor  again  heave  the  lead; 
He's  now  all  aback,  nor  will  sails  shoot  ahead.; 


singer's  own  book.  171 

Yet,  though  worms  gnaw  his  timbers,  his  vessel  a 

wreck, 
When  he  hears  the  last  whistle,  he'll  jump  upon 

deck. 

With  his  frame  a  mere  hulk,  and  his  reck'ning  on 

board, 
At  last  he  dropt  down  to  mortality's  road ; 
With  eternity  a  ocean  before  him  in  view, 
He  cheerfully  pip'd  out,  '  My  messmates,  adieu P 

Though  worms,  &c. 

Secure  in  his  cabin,  he's  moor'd  in  the  grave, 
Nor  hears  any  more  the  loud  roar  of  the  wave ; 
Press'd  by  death,  he  is  sent  to  the  tender  belowT, 
WTiere  lubbers  and  seamen  must  ev'ry  one  go. 

Yet,  though  worms,  &c 

THE  GALLEY  SLAVE. 

Oh.  think  on  my  fate !  once  I  freedom  enjoy'd — 

Was  happy  as  happy  could  be ; 
But  pleasure  is  fled, — even  hope  is  destroy'd — 

A  captive,  alas !  on  the  sea. 
I  was  ta'en  by  the  foe — 'twas  the  fiat  of  fate, 

To  tear  me  from  her  I  adore ; 
When  hope  brings  to  mind  my  once  happy  estate, 

I  sigh,  while  I  tug  at  the  oar. 

Hard,  hard  is  my  fate !  O  how  galling  my  chain ! 

My  life  steer'd  by  misery's  chart; 
And  though  'gainst  my  tyrants  I  scorn  to  complain, 

Tears  gush  forth  to  ease  my  full  heart. 
I  disdain  e'en  to  shrink,  though  I  feel  the  sharp  lash 

Yet  my  heart  feels  for  her  I  adore  ; 
When  thought  brings  to  mind  my  once  happy  estate 

I  sigh,  while  I  tug  at  the  oar! 

How  fortune  deceives!  we  had  pleasure  in  tow, 
The  port  where  she  dwelt  we'd  in  view; 

But  the  wish'd  nuptial  morn  was  o'erelouded  with  ',vo. 
And,  dear  Anna,  I  hurried  from  you. 


172  THE  AMERICAN 

Our  shallop  was  boarded,  and  I  borne  away, 
To  behold  my  dear  Anna  no  more! — 

But  despair  wastes  my  spirits,  my  form  feels  decay- 
He  sigh'd,  and  expir'd  at  the  oar. 

OH  TELL  ME  HOW  FROM  LOVE  TO  FLY. 

Oh  tell  me  how  from  love  to  fly, 

Its  dangers  how  to  shun, 
To  guard  the  heart,  to  shield  the  eye, 

Or  I  must  be  undone. 

For  thy  impression  on  my  mind, 

No  time,  nor  power  can  move; 
And  vain,  alas !  the  task  f  find, 

To  look  and  not  to  love! 

Could  absence  my  sad  heart  uphold, 

I'd  hence  and  mourn  my  lot ; 
But  mem'ry  will  not  be  controlled, 

Thou  ne'er  canst  be  forgot. 


■o 


THINE  AM  I.  MY  FAITHFUL  FAIR. 

Thine  am  I,  thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair, 

Thine,  thine,  my  lovely  Nancy; 
Ev'ry  pulse,  ev'ry  pulse,  along  my  veins, 

Ev'ry  roving  fancy  : 
To  thy  bosom  lay  my  heart, 

There  to  throb,  to  throb  and  languish ; 
Though  despair  had  wrung  its  core, 

That  would  heal  its  anguish. 

Take  away,  take  away  those  rosy  lips, 

Rich,  rbh  with  balmy  treasure ; 
Turn  away,  turn  away  thine  eyes  of  love, 

Lesi  I  die  with  pleasure: 
What  is  life  when  wanting  love, 

Night,  night  without  a  morning; 
Love's  the  cloudless  summer  sun, 

>,  at  ure  gay  adorning. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  173 


THE  INVINCIBLES. 

Simg  by  Madame  Ycsfris. 

When  the  merry  fife  and  drum, 

And  ihe  bugles  loudly  play. 
Then  gaily  march  10  the  martial  sounds, 

The  Invincibles  so  gay; 
Each  lass  upon  parade, 

Willi  cap  and  ^mart  cockade, 
To  the  men  will  show,  that  well  she  knows 

The  gallant  soldier's  trade. 
Our  corp'ral  leads  us  on, 

And  in  quick  lime  we  move, 
With  arms  in  hand,  a  valiant  band, 

Our  truth  and  love  to  prove. 
Then  ladies  join  our  ranks, 

Our  banners  proudly  wave, 
Invincibles  in  love  and  war. 

Come  join  the  gay  and  brave. 

Invincibles  are  we, 

With  heart  and  arms  combin'd, 
And  no  attention  find  will  he 

Who  is  not  lo  our  mind ; 
We  never  present  arms 

To  the  purseproud  awkward  lout, 
For  soon  is  the  word  from  our  corp'ral  heard 

To  face  to  the  right  about; 
but  to  the  youths  who  please, 

We  quickly  stand  at  ease, 
Resign  our  arms,  quit  war's  alarms, 

To  dwell  in  love  and  peace. 

Then  ladies,  &c. 

I  HAVE  PLUCKED. 

I  have  rluck'd  the  swcetesi  flower, 
1  have  oream'd  in  fancy's  bower, 
1  have  bask'd  in  beauty's  eyes, 
I  have  mingled  melting  sighs: 


174  THE  AMERICAN 

If  all  these  sweets  to  hive, 
I'm  the  guiltiest  man  alive, — 
But,  gentle  maids,  believe, 
I  never  can  deceive, 
JNor  cause  your  breasts  to  heave, 
With  a  sad  heigho ! 

But  to  raise  in  beauty's  frame, 
The  burning  blush  of  shame — 
Or  bid  the  tear  to  start, 
Far  be  it  from  my  heart ; 
Such  base  attempts  I  scorn, 
To  honour  was  I  born, 
Then,  gentle  maidens,  spare 
The  heart  you  thus  ensnare, 
Or  the  willow  I  must  wear, 
With  a  sad  heigho ! 


SAY  WHAT  IS  DEAR, 

Sang  by  Miss  Love. 

Say  what  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  brave, 
As  the  banner  of  victory  is  waving  on  high  ? 

When  fail'ii  is  the  foe,  who  fain  would  enslave 
The  children  of  freedom,  who  conquer  or  die ! 

O  ves !  there's  a  joy  more  bliss  can  impart, 
Than  all  the  proud  trophies  won  on  the  field ; 

It  is  to  clasp  to  your  bosom  the  maid  of  your  heart, 
And  as  offerings  of  love  those  trophies  to  yield. 


ELEANOR  GREY. 

Air, — Savouma  Deelish. 

Oh,  long  shall  I  think  of  the  miller's  fair  daughter, 
The  flower  of  the  valley,  poor  Eleanor  Grey, 

For  though  sorrow's  sure  hand  to  the  cold  grave  has 
brought  her, 
Her  virtues  in  memory  ne'er  shall  decay : 


finger's  own  book.  175 

Like  the  glow-worm  which  shines,  the  night's  dark- 
ness illumine:. 

Like  the  breath  of  the  rose,  which,  though  sweet 
while  'tis  blooming, 

Breathes  sweeter  when  death  is  its  beauty  entombing, 

Is  the  memory  sweet  of  poor  Eleanor  Grey. 

If  to  love  be  a  crime,  and  there's  sin  in  believing, 
Then  scarcely  a  sinner  was  poor  Eleanor  Grey ; 

For  Edward  was  tender,  and  form'd  for  deceiving, 
And  swore  to  protect  when  he  meant  to  betray ; 

And  like  the  mild  night-plant  when  some  rude  foot 
bends  it, 

Whose  only  reproach  is  the  perfume  it  lends  it, — 

She  sighed,  'My  heart  blesses  the  false  youth  who 
rends  it,' 

Then  died  as  she  blessed  him,  poor  Eleanor  Grey. 


IN  HOME  I  FIND  SWEETS. 

Air, — Home,  sweet  Home. 

Though  some  have  a  notion  at  all  times  to  roam, 
Let  them  wander  for  pleasure,  I  seek  it  at  home; 
Wife  and  children's  caresses  dispel  ev'ry  care, 
And  at  home  I  find  sweets  I  can't  meet  with  else- 
where. 
Home,  home !  sweet,  sweet  home ! 
If  you  seek  for  true  pleasure,  you'll  find  it  at 
home. 

'Neath  the  ivy  that  fondly  my  cot  doth  entwine, 

In  a  fav'rite  oak  chair,  oft  at  eve  I  recline, 

While  each  murmuring  breeze  seems  our  joys  to 

increase, 
As  I  hail  my  dear  home,  the  sweet  mansion  of  peac© 

Home,  home,  &c. 


L76  THE  AMERICAN 


Jg 


WHEN  THROUGH  LIFE. 

Air, — Banks  of  Banna. 

When  through  life  unblest  we  rove, 

Losing  all  that  life  made  dear, 
Should  some  notes  we  used  to  love 

In  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear; 
Oh!  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain, 

Waking  thoughts  that  long  have  slept — 
Kindling  former  smiles  again, 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept! 

Like  the  gale  that  sighs  alon< 

Beds  of  oriental  flowers, 
Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song, 

That  once  was  hoard  in  happier  hours. 
Fill'd  with  balm  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Though  the  flow'rs  have  sunk  in  death ; 
So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone, 

Its  memory  lives  in  music's  breath ! 

Music,  oh!  how  faint,  how  weak, 

Language  seems  before  thy  spell, 
Why  should  feeling  ever  speak, 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well  ? 
Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 

Love's  are  even  more  false  than  they, 
Oh,  'tis  only  music's  strain 

Can  sweetly  soothe,  and  not  betray. 

FISHERMEN'S  GLEE. 

Ply  the  oar,  brother,  and  speed  the  boat, 
Swift  o'er  the  glittering  waves  we  float; 
Then  home  as  swiftly  we'll  haste  again, 
Loaded  with  wealth  of  the  plunder'd  main — 
Loaded  with  wealth  of  the  plunder'd  main. 
Pull  a  nay,  pull  away, 
Row,  boys,  row; 
A  long  pull,  a  strong  pull, 
And  off  we  go. 


singer's  own  book.  177 

Bass  Solo. 

And  off  we  go. 

Tenor. 

Hark!  hark!  as  the  neighbouring  convent  bell 
Throws  o'er  the  waves  its  vesper  swell, 
Sullen  its  boom,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Blending  its  chime  to  the  dash  of  the  oar: 
Boom,  boom — Dash,  dash. 

Pull  away,  pull  away,  &c. 

OH,  COME  WITH  ME. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Oh,  come  with  me,  I'll  row  thee  o'er 

Yon  blue  and  peaceful  sea  ; 
And  while  I  gently  ply  the  oar, 

Renew  my  vows  to  thee  : 
I'll  bid  thee  gaze  beneath  thee, 

On  each  reflected  star; 
Then  think  my  soul  reflects  thee 

As  true,  but  brighter  far. 

Then  come  with  me,  &c 

O!  could  I  count  the  stars  above 

The  wild  waves'  ceaseless  swell, 
My  deep,  my  pure,  my  boundless  love 

To  thee  I  could  not  tell. 
As  soon  the  stars  may  cease  to  rise, 

The  waves  forget  to  flow, 
Ere  my  fond  heart  forger  its  sighs, 

And  cease  to  love  thee — no! 

Then  come  with  me,  &c 

REMEMBER  THE  GLORIES. 

Remember  the  glories  of  Brian  the  brave, 
Though  the  davs  of  the  hero  are  o'er; 

Though  lost  to  Mononia,  and  cold  in  the  grave. 
He  returns  to  Kinkorah  no  more! 
M 

4* 


178  THE  AMERICAN 

That  star  of  the  field,  which  so  often  has  pour'd 

Its  beam  on  the  battle,  is  set ; 
Bat  enough  of  its  glory  remains  on  each  sworci, 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet. 

Mononia!  when  nature  embellished  the  tint 

Of  thy  fields,  and  thy  mountains  so  fair, 
Did  she  ever  intend  that  a  tyrant  should  print 

The  footstep  of  Slavery  there  ? 
No, — Freedom!  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  tell  our  invaders,  the  Danes, 
That  'tis  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  age  at  thy  shrine, 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  in  chains. 

Forget  not  our  wounded  companions,  who  stood 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side  ; 
While  the  moss  of  the  valley  grew  red  with  their 

blood, 

They  stirr'd  not,  but  conquer'd  and  died ; 
The  sun,  that  now  blesses  our  arms  with  hia  light, 

Saw  them  fall  upon  Ossory's  plain ! 
Oh !  let  him  not  blush  when  he  leaves  us  to-night,. 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vain. 


RISE !  GENTLE  MOON. 

Sung  by  Miss  Love* 

;ay  nas  gone  down  ;  on  the  Baltic's  bright  billow 
Evening  has  sigh'd  her  last  to  the  lone  willow  : 

The  Baltic's  broad  billow  ; 
Evening  has  sigh'd  her  last  to  the  lone  willow, 
Night  hurries  on,  earth  and  ocean  to  cover, 
Rise !  gentle  moon,  and  light  me  to  my  lover. 

'Twas  by  thy  beam  he  first  stole  forth  to  woo  me ; 
Brighter  since  then,  hast  thou  ever  seem'd  to  me; 

First  stole  forth  to  woo  me ; 
Brighter,  since  then,  hast  thou,  &c. 
Let  the  wild  waves  still  the  red  sun  roll  over. 
Thine  is  the  light,  of  ail  lights,  to  a  lover. 


singer's  own  book.  179 


IF  YOU  ASK  WHAT  IS  LOVE. 

If  you  ask.  if  you  ask,  what  is  love, 

When  we  first,  when  we  first  feel  its  power, 

I  would,  I  would  say,  'twas  a  thorn, 
A  thorn  conceal  VI  in  a  flower. 

Or  honey  collected  beneath  the  bee's  wing, 

Where  we  scarce  taste  the  sweets  for  the  wound  of 
the  sting, 
Oh,  this  is  love! — Oh,  this  is  love. 

If  you  ask,  if  you  ask,  what  is  love, 

I  would  answer,  would  answer,  a  cheat ; 

'Tis  woe,  'tis  woe  in  a  mask — 
'Tis  bliss,  'tis  bliss  in  deceit, 

'Tis  poison  in  nectar,  'tis  death  in  repose, 

In  prospect  'tis  rapmre,  when  near  worst  of  woes. 

Oh,  this  is  love !— Oh,  tins  is  love. 

THE  SOLDIERS  DREAxM. 

Our  bugles   sang  truce,   for  the  night  cloud  had 
lour'd. 

And  the  sentinel-stars  set  their  watch  in  the  sky  ; 
And  thousands  had  sunk  on  the  ground  overpower'd, 

The  weary  to  sleep,  and  the  wounded  to  die. 
When  repo*m£  that  night  on  my  pallet  of  straw. 

By  the  wolfscaring  fagot  that  guarded  the  slain, 
At  the  dead  o[  the  night  a  sweet  vision  I  saw. 

And  tlirice,  ere  the  cock  crew,  I  dreamt  it  again. 

Methoimht.  from  the  battle-field's  dreadful  array. 

Far,  far  I  had  roam'd  on  a  desolate  track, 
Till  autumn  and  sunshine  disclosed  the  sweet  way, 

To  the  house  of  my  father,  who  welcom'd  me  back 
I  flew  to  the  pleasant  field,  travers'd  so  oft 

In  life's   morning  march,  when   my  bosom  was 
young; 
I  heard  my  own  mountain  goats  Meeting  aloft, 

And  knew  the  sweet  strain  that  the  corn-reapers 
sung. 


130  THE    AMERICAN 

Then  pledged  we  the  wine-cup,  and  fondly  I  swore, 

From  my  home  and  my  weeping  friends  never  to 
part ; 
My  little  ones  kiss'd  me  a  thousanc4  times  o'er, 

And  my  wife  sobb'd  aloud,  in  the  fulness  of  heart— 
•  Stay,  stay  with  us  1 — rest !  thou  art  weary  and  worn ! 

And  fain  was  the  war-broken  soldier  to  stay ; 
But  sorrow  return'd  with  the  dawning  of  morn, 

And  the  voice  in  my  dreaming  ear  melted  away. 

ROY'S  WIFE. 

Scottish  Air. 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch 
Wat  ye  how  she  cheated  me, 

As  I  came  o'er  the  braes  of  Balloch. 

She  vow'd,  she  swore  she  wad  be  mine, 
She  said  that  she  lo'ed  me  best  of  ony  ; 

But  oh,  the  fickle,  faithless  quean, 
She's  ta'en  the  carl  and  left  her  Johnny. 
Roy's  wTife,  &c. 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch  ,* 
Wat  ye  how  she  cheated  me, 

As  I  came  o'er  the  braes  of  Balloch. 
O  she  was  a  canty  quean, 

And  weel  could  dance  the  Highland  walloch, 
How  happy  I,  had  she  been  mine, 

Or  I'd  been  Roy  of  Aldivalloch. 
Roy's  wife,  &c. 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch, 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch  ; 
Wat  ye  how  she  cheated  me, 

As  I  came  o'er  the  braes  of  Bailoch. 
Her  hair  sae  fair,  her  een  sae  clear, 

Her  wee  bit  mou',  sae  sweet  and  bonny 


singer's  own  book.  181 

To  me  she  ever  will  be  dear, 
Tho'  she's  forever  left  her  Johnny. 
Roy's  wife,  &c. 

Roy's  wife  of  Aidivalloeh, 

Roy's  wife  of  Aidivalloeh  ; 
Wat  ye  how  she  cheated  me, 

As  1  came  o'er  the  braes  of  Balloch. 
But  Roy's  age  is  three  times  mine, 

I  think  his  days  will  nae  be  mony, 
And  when  the  earl's  dead  and  gane, 

She'll,  may  be,  rue,  and  tak'  her  Johnny 
Roy's  wife,  &c. 

SHE  WEEPS  O'ER  THE  TRINKETS  HE 
GAVE  HER. 

Her  eyes  with  her  pale  hand  are  shaded, 

The  bloom  of  her  beauty  is  faded, 

And  loose  hang  the  dark  locks  that  aided, 

By  contrast,  the  snow  of  her  brow : 
Her  dream  of  enjoyment  is  over, 
She  seeks  the  loud  smile  of  her  lover, 
Alas!  he  assumed  it  to  cover 

The  cold  frown  repulsing  her  now. 

She  weeps  o'er  the  trinkets  he  gave  her, 
Bright  lures,  that  made  innocence  waver, 
The  golden  chains  meant  to  enslave  her 

Are  broken,  she  throws  them  aside  : 
She  thinks  of  her  home,  and  its  bowers, 
Where  spring  strew'd  the  earliest  flowers, 
Too  late  for  youth's  happier  hours, 

She  mourns  in  her  palace  of  pride. 

MEET  ME  TO-NIGHT. 

Meet  me  to-night  in  the  path  which  lies 
By  the  side  of  the  woodland  hollow, 

The  moon  will  have  open'd  her  silver  eyes 
And  tell  thee  which  path  to  follow. 


1 


182  THE  AMERICAN 

Then  tripping  along  to  thy  footsteps'  sound, 
Thy  lip  to  thy  heart  will  be  humming: 

If  thy  glance  for  a  moment  turn  around, 
'Twill  assure  thee,  love,  I'm  coming. 

Oh !  do  not  fear,  not  a  tone  will  break 
On  earth  or  in  air  that  can  chide  thee ; 

If  a  lonely  rose  perchance  be  awake, 
'Twill  droop  its  bloom  beside  thee. 

FARE-THEE-WELL. 

Fare-thee-well,  and  if  for  ever, 

Still  for  ever,  fare-thee-well ! 
Even  though  unforgiving,  never 

'Gainst  thee  can  my  heart  rebel. 
Would  that  breast  were  bared  before  thee, 

Where  thy  head  so  oft  hath  lain, 
While  that  placid  sleep  came  o'er  thee 

Which  thou  ne'er  canst  know  again. 

Would  that  breast,  by  thee  glanced  over, 

Every  inmost  thought  might  show, 
Then  thou  wouldst  at  length  discover 

'Twas  not  well  to  spurn  it  so. 
But  'tis  done,  all  words  are  idle, 

Words  from  me  are  vainer  still  ; 
But  the  thoughts  we  cannot  bridle 

Force  their  way  against  the  will. 

Fare-thee-well,  thus  disunited, 

Torn  from  every  nearer  tie, 
Sear'd  in  heart,  and  lone,  and  blighted, 

More  than  this, — I  scarce  can  die. 

ERE  AROUND  THE  HUGE  OAK. 

Ere  around  the  huge  oak,  that  o'ershadows  yon  mill, 

The  fond  ivy  had  dared  to  entwine ; 
Ere  the  church  was  a  ruin  that  nods  on  the  hill, 

Or  a  rook  built  his  nest  on  the  pine ; 


•SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  183 

Could  I  trace  back  the  time,  of  a  far  distant  date, 
Since  my  forefathers  teiPd  in  this  field  ; 

And  the  farm  I  now  hold  on  your  honour's  estate, 
Is  the  same  which  my  grandfather  till'd. 

He,  dying,  bequeath'd  to  his  son  a  good  name, 

Which,  unsullied,  descended  to  me; 
For  my  child  I've  preserved  it,  unblemished  with 
shame, 

And  it  still  from  a  spot  shall  go  free. 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  WANDERING  ARAB 

Away,  away,  my  Barb  and  I, 

As  free  as  wave,  as  fleet  as  wind, 
We  sweep  the  sands  of  Araby, 

And  leave  a  wrorld  of  slaves  behind. 
Tis  mine  to  range  in  this  wild  garb, 

Nor  e'er  feel  lonely  though  alone] 
I  would  not  change  my  Arab  Barb, 

To  mount  a  drowsy  sultan's  throne. 

Away,  away,  &c. 

Where  the  pale  stranger  dares  not  come, 

Proud  e'er  my  native  sands  I  rove, 
An  Arab  tent  my  only  home, 

An  Arab  maid  my  only  love. 
Here  freedom  dwells  without  a  fear, 

Coy  to  the  world,  she  loves  the  wild ; 
Who  ever  brings  a  fetter  here, 

To  chain  the  desert's  fiery  child? 

Away,  away,  &c 

AN  OLD  MAN  WOULD  BE  WOOING. 

An  old  man  would  be  wooing 

A  damsel  gay  and  young, 
But  she,  while  he  was  suing, 
For  ever  laugh'd  and  sun 
An  old  man,  an  old  man,  will  never  do  for  mo 
For  May  and  December  can  never  agree. 


184  THE  AMERICAN 

—     ■■■-■■■!  '!■■         ■■■■l^         ■!■■!  .1.  ■■  —   -I      .1  —  -—  .— ■ —     »■■-■■■■■  ■      ■        .  HM  — 

She  sung  till  he  was  dozing — 
A  youth  by  fortune  bless'd, 
While  Guardv's  eyes  were  closing, 
Her  hand  delighted  press'd. 
An  old  man,  an  old  man,  will  never  do  for  me, 
For  May  and  December  can  never  agree. 

Then  kneeling,  trembling,  creeping, 

I  vow  'twas  much  amiss, 
He  watch'd  the  old  man  sleeping, 
And  softly  stole — a  kiss. 
An  old  man,  an  old  man,  will  never  do  for  me, 
For  May  and  December  can  never  agree. 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ADIEU. 

Adieu,  adieu,  my  only  life, 

My  honour  calls  me  from  thee, 
Remember  thou'rt  a  soldier's  wife, 

Those  tears  but  ill  become  thee ; 
What  though  by  duty  I  am  call'd, 

Where  thundering  cannons  rattle, 
"Where  valour's  self  might  stand  appall'd, 
Where  valour's  self  might  stand  appall'd, 

When  on  the  wings  of  thy  dear  love, 

To  heaven  above 
Thy  fervent  orisons  are  flown, 

The  tender  prayer  thou  puttest  up  there, 
Shall  call  a  guardian  angel  down, 
Shall  call  a  guardian  angel  down, 

To  watch  me  in  the  battle. 

My  safety  thy  fair  truth  shall  be, 

As  sword  and  buckler  serving, 
My  life  shall  be  more  dear  to  me, 

Because  of  thy  preserving  : 
Let  peril  come,  let  horror  threat, 

Let  thundering  cannons  rattle, 
I  fearless  seek  the  conflict's  heat ; 

Assur'd  when  on  the  wings  of  love, 

To  heaven  above,  &c. 


SINGER  S  OWN   BOOK. 


186 


Enough,  with  that  benignant  smile 
Some  kindred  god  inspired  thee, 

Who  saw  thy  bosom  void  of  guile, 

Who  wonder'd,  and  admir'a  thee: 

I  go  assur'd.  my  life,  adieu, 
Though  thundering  cannons  rattle, 
Though  murdering  carnage  stalk  in  view, 

When  on  the  wings  of  thy  true  love, 

To  heaven  above,  &c. 


A  HIGHLAND  LADDIE  HEARD  OF  WAR. 

A  highland  laddie  heard  of  war, 

Which  set  his  heart  in  motion; 
He  heard  the  distant  cannon  roar, 

He  saw  the  smiling  ocean : 
Come  weal,  come  woe, 
To  sea  he'd  go, 

And  left,  one  morning  early- 
Loch  Lomond  Ben, 
And  the  willow  glen, 

And  Jean  that  loved  him  dearly. 

He  wander'd  east,  he  wander'd  south, 

But  joy  he  could  not  find  it  ,* 
But  he  found  out  this  wholesome  truth 
And  had  the  sense  to  mind  it, — 

Of  a'  the  earth, 

The  bonny  north 
To  cherish  late  and  early  ; 

Loch  Lomond  Ben, 

And  the  willow  glen, 
And  Jean  that  loved  him  dearly. 

HENRYS  COTTAGE  MAID. 

Ah !  where  can  fly  my  soul's  true  love  ? 
Sad  I  wander  this  lone  grove ; 
Sighs  and  tears  for  him  I  shed, 
Henry  is  from  Laura  fled. 


186  THE   AMERICAN 


Thy  love  to  me  thoi  didst  impart, 
Thy  love  soon  won  my  virgin  heart  ; 
But,  dearest  Henry,  thou'st  betray'd 
Thy  love  with  thy  poor  cottage  maid. 

Through  the  vale  my  grief  appears, 
Sighing  sad,  with  pearly  tears; 
Oft  thy  image  is  my  theme, 
As  I  wander  on  the  green : 
See  from  my  cheek  the  colour  flies, 
And  love's  sweet  hope  within  me  dies  ^ 
For  oh !  dear  Henry  thoifst  betray'd 
Thy  love  with  thy  "dear  cottage  maid. 

THE  DOWNHTLL  OF  LIFE. 

In  the  downhill  of  life  when  I  find  I'm  declining, 

May  my  fate  no  less  fortunate  be, 
Than  a  snug  elbow  chair  can  afford  for  reclining, 

And  a  cot  that  o'erlooks  the  wide  sea ; 
With  an  ambling  pad  pony  to  pace  o'er  the  lawn, 

While  I  carol  away  idle  sorrow ; 
And  blithe  as  the  lark  that  each  day  hails  the  dawn, 

Look  forward  with  hope  for  to-morrow. 

With  a  porch  at  my  door,  both  for  shelter  and  shade 
toe, 

As  the  sunshine  or  rain  may  prevail, 
And  a  small  spot  of  ground  for  the  use  of  the  spade 
too, 

With  a  barn  for  the  use  of  the  flail; 
A  cow  for  my  dairy,  a  dog  for  my  game, 

And  a  purse  when  my  friend  wants  to  borrow ; 
I'd  envy  no  nabob  his  riches  or  fame, 

Or  the  honours  that  wait  him  to-morrow. 

From  the  bleak  northern  blast,  may  my  cot  be  com- 
pletely 

Secured  by  a  neighbouring  hill, 
And  at  night  may  repose  steai  on  me  more  sweetly, 

By  the  sound  of  a  murmuring  rill. 


singer's  own  book.  187 

And  while  peace  and  plenty  I  find  at  my  board, 
With  a  heart  free  from  sickness  and  sorrow, 

With  my  friends  will  I  share  what  to-day  may  afford, 
And  fet  them  spread  the  table  to-morrow. 

And  when  I  at  last  must  throw  off  this  frail  covering, 

Which  I've  worn  for  years  three-score  and  ten; 
On  the  brink  of  the  grave  I'll  not  seek  to  keep  hover- 

IN  or  my  thread  wish  to  spin  o'er  again  ; 
But  my  lace  in  the  glass  I'll  serenely  survey, 

And  with  smiles  count  each  wrinkle  and  furrow  ; 
As  this  worn  out  old  stuff,  which  is  thread-bare  to-day 

May  become  everlasting  to-morrow. 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  ROSES. 

Young  Love  flew  to  the  Pa  phi  an  bower, 

And  gathered  sweets  from  many  a  flower, 

From  roses  and  sweet  jessamine, 

The  lily  and  the  eglantine ; 

The  Graces  there  were  culling  posies, 

And  found  young  Love  among  the  roses. 

Oh  happy  day !  oh  joyous  hour ! 
Compose  a  wreath  from  every  flower; 
Let's  bind  him  to  us,  ne'er  to  sever, 
Young  Love  shall  dwell  with  us  for  ever; 
Eternal  spring  the  wreath  composes, 
Content  to  live  among  the  roses. 

Young  Love  among  the  roses,  &c. 


THE  LAD  THAT  I  LOVE. 

The  lad  that  I  love  no  lassie  shall  know,  oh !  oh . 
The  path  that  he  treads  to  no  one  I'll  show,  oh!  oh ! 
His  heart  is  all  truth  whenever  we  meet, 
Then  why  should  new  faces  e'er  teach  him  deceit  ? 
Oh,  no,  I  will  keep  him  and  cherish  him  so,  oh !  oh. 
That  beauty  herself  sha'n't  tempt  him  to  go,  oh!  oh  ' 


188  THE  AMERICAN 


The  church  is  hard  by  I  very  well  know,  oh!  oh! 
He  showed  me  the  door,  and  pressed  my  hand  so, 

oh! oh! 
Love,  honour,  obey,  are  the  wrords  to  be  said, 
And  I'll  say  'em  and  keep  'em  whenever  I  wed, 
That  is,  if  I  marry  the  man  that  I  know,  oh !  oh ! 
If  not,  poor  soul,  I  shall  bother  him  so,  oh !  oh ! 

My  fortune's  my  face,  which  I  hope  I  may  show, 

oh! oh! 
'Tis  honest,  and  that  is  a  treasure  I  know,  oh!  oh ! 
This  poor  little  hand  is  all  I  can  give, 
And  where  I  once  pledge  it,  it  ever  shall  live ; 
For  the  heart's  in  the  hand  I  mean  to  bestow7,  oh !  oh ! 
And  hands  are  the  gifts  which  make  the  heart  glow 

oh! oh! 


THE  YOUNG  MAY  MOON. 

The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love, 
The  glow-worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love, 

How  sweet  to  rove 

Through  Morna's  grove, 
While  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love ! 
Then  wake !  the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear ! 
'Tis  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear! 

And  the  best  of  all  ways, 

To  lengthen  our  days, 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear ! 

Now  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love, 

But  the  sage  his  star-watch  keeping,  love ; 

And  I,  whose  star, 

More  glorious  far, 
Is  the  eye  from  that  casement  peeping,  love ! 
Then  wake,  till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear! 
The  sage's  glass  we'll  shun,  my  dear, 

Or,  in  w7atching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  of  light, 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear ! 


singer's  own  book.  189 


THE  MISERIES  OF  SATURDAY 

There  is  no  peace  about  the  house, 

In  kitchen,  parlour,  hall, 
There  is  no  comfort  in  the  house 

On  Saturday  at  all. 
Where'er  you  turn,  a  noise  assails 

Of  brushes,  brooms,  and  mops; 
Besides  a  host  of  pans  and  pails, 

For  various  stinking  slops. 
Then  there's  rubbing,  scrubbing,  tearing,  swearing, 

sounding  ev'ry  way; 
Of  all  the  days  throughout  the  week,  the  worst  is 

Saturday. 

Hark  !  is  that  dread  thunder  near, 
Or  noisy  drum  and  fife  ? 

Oh,  no,  the  music  that  I  hear, 
Is  charwoman  and  wife ! 

Botli  laughing,  scolding,  talking,  singing, 
Gad  !  there's  such  a  din, 

That  all  Babel's  workmen  ringing, 
Conquered,  must  give  in — 
To  their  rubbing,  scrubbing,  tearing,  swearing,  echo 

big  ev'ry  way," 
Of  all  the  days  within  the  week,  the  worst  is  Satur- 
day ! 

In  apron  blue  nowT  comes  your  belle, 

And  gown,  well  stored  with  holes; 
For  colour,  it  might  passing  well 

Claim  kindred  with  the  coals. 
Then,  she  says,  "  You  know,  my  dear, 

Some  make  their  husbands  rue, 
By  taking  their  good  clothes  to  wear, 

When  any  thing  will  do, 
For  their  scrubbing,  rubbing,  wearing,  tearing."— 

Oh,  curse  them  all,  I  say  ; 
Of  all  the  days  throughout  the  week,  the  worst  is 

Saturday. 


190  THE  AMERICAN 


Begrimed  with  dust,  with  dirt,  and  grease, 

She  now  sits  down  to  dine ; 
At  banyan  day,  of  bread  and  cheese, 

You  now  must  not  repine ; 
Your  goods  and  chattels,  now  displaced, 

All  in  confusion  stand  ; 
Some  are  broke,  and  some  defaced, 
By  each  destructive  hand, 
With  their  rubbing,  scrubbing,  tearing,  swearing, 

sounding  ev'ry  way ; 
Of  all  the  days  within  the  week,  the  wrorst  is  Satur- 
day. 

At  length,  thank  fate !  the  warfare's  o'er, 

But  now,  the  peevish  frump 
Insists  that  all  across  the  floor 

We  must  hop.,  skip,  and  jump, 
For  fear  the  milk-white  boards  should  soil, 

Or  furniture  bewray: 
Ah !  wo  to  him  that  dares  to  spoil 

The  work  of  Saturday, 
After  rubbing,  scrubbing,  tearing,  swearing,  all  their 

time  away; 
Of  all  the  days  that  make  the  week,  the  worst  is 

Saturday. 

Then,  to  avoid  a  din  and  noise, 

For  rational  delight, 
We  haste  to  join  some  jolly  boys 

On  Saturday  at  night ; 
When  we're  met,  a  jovial  set, 

We  drive  dull  care  away, 
In  harmony,  we  soon  forget 

The  woes  of  Saturday, 
And  their  rubbing,  scrubbing,  tearing,  swearing,  all 

the  live-long  day ; 
For  the  night  of  mirth  will  soon  requite  the  woes  of 

Saturday. 


BIXGER  8  OWN  COOK.  TO  I 


BLUE-EYED  MARY. 

Come,  toll  me,  blue-eyed  stranger 

Say,  whither  dost  thou  roam? 
O'er  this  wide  world  a  ranger, 
Hasi  thou  no  friends  or  home  ? 

They  called  me  blue-eyed  Mary, 

When  friends  and  fortunes  smiled; 
But  ah !  how  fortunes  vary, 
I  now  am  sorrow's  child.' 

Come  here,  1*11  buy  thy  flowers, 

And  ease  thy  hapless  lot, 
Still  wet  with  vernal  showers, 

I'll  buy,  forget  me  not. 

*Kind  sir,  then  take  these  posies, 
They're  fading  like  my  youth, 

But  never,  like  these  roses, 
Shall  wither  Mary's  truth.' 

Look  up,  thou  poor  forsaken, 
I'll  give  thee  house  and  home, 

And  if  I'm  not  mistaken, 
Thou'lt  never  wish  to  roam. 

'Once  more  I'm  happy  Mary, 
Once  more  has  fortune  smiled; 

Who  ne'er  from  virtue  vary, 
May  yet  be  fortune's  child.' 

THE  DE'IL  CAM'  FIDDLIN. 

The  de'il  cam'  fiddlin  through  the  town, 

And  •  d  awa  wi'  the  exciseman, 

And  ilka  wife  ci  i  8,  Auld  Mahoun, 
I  wish  you  luck  o'  the  prize  man. 

The  de'ii's  awa  wi'  the  exciseman, 
lie's  danced  awa,  danced  awa, 
He's  danced  awa  wi'  the  exciseman 


192  THE  AMERICAN 

We'll  mak'  our  maut,  and  we'll  brew  our  drink, 
We'll  laugh  and  sing  and  rejoice,  man, 

A.nd  mony  braw  thanks  to  the  muckle  black  de'il 
That  danced  awa  wi'  the  exciseman. 
The  de'il's  awa,  &c. 

There's  threesome  reels,  there's  foursome  reels, 
There's  hornpipes  and  strathspeys,  man, 

But  the  ae  best  dance  e'er  came  to  the  land, 
Was  The  de'il's  awa  wi'  the  exciseman. 
The  de'il's  awa,  &c. 

UPROUSE  YE,  THEN,  MY  MERRY  MEN 
(A  Gipsy  Glee  and  Chorus.) 

The  chough  and  crow  to  roost  are  gone, 

The  owl  sits  on  the  tree, 
The  hushed  wind  wails,  with  feeble  moan, 

Like  infant  charity. 
The  wild  fire  dances  on  the  fen, 

The  red  star  sheds  its  ray, 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men, 

It  is  our  op'ning  day. 

Chorus. 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men,  &c. 

Both  child  and  nurse  are  fast  asleep, 

And  closed  is  ev'ry  flower, 
And  winking  tapers  faintly  peep 

High  from  my  lady's  bower; 
Bewildered  hinds,  with  shortened  ken, 

Shrink  on  their  murky  way ; 
Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men, 

It  is  our  op'ning  day. 

Uprouse  ye,  then,  &c. 

Nor  board  nor  garner  own  we  now, 

Nor  roof,  nor  latched  door, 
Nor  kind  mate,  bound  by  holy  vow, 

To  bless  a  good  man's  store ; 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK. 


193 


Noon  lulls  us  in  a  gloomy  den, 
And  night  is  grown  our  day, 

Upronse  ye,  then,  my  merry  men, 
And  use  it  as  ye  may. 

Uprouse  ye,  then,  &c 

THE  MILD  SEGAR. 
A  Parody  on  the  Light  Guitar. 

Oh.  leave  the  noisy,  smoky  scene, 

The  streets  of  glaring  light, 
And  take  a  stroll  to  Tumham-green, 

And  we'll  return  at  night. 
Then  as  we  watch  the  stages  pass, 

And  hear  their  wheels  afar; 
Of  grog  we'll  take  a  cheerful  glass, 

And  smoke  a  mild  segar. 

I'll  tell  you  how  a  maiden  swooned, 

And  made  a  devilish  din  ; 
Her  bottle  fell  upon  the  ground, 

Was  broke*  and  spill'd  her  gin. 
I'll  tell  thee  how  a  crowd  drew  nigh, 

Who  heard  her  screams  afar; 
And  if  my  tale  should  prove  too  dry, 

Why  take  a  glass  with  your  segar. 


BEAUTIFUL  MAID. 

When  absent  from  her,  my  soul  holds  most  dear, 

What  medley  of  passions  invade; 
In  this  bosom  what  anguish,  what  hope,  and  what 
fear, 

I  endure  for  my  beautiful  maid. 

In  vain  I  seek  pleasure  to  lighten  my  grief, 
Or  quit  the  gay  throng  for  the  shade, 

Nor  retirement,  nor  solitude  yields  me  relief, 
When  away  from  my  beautiful  maid 
N 


194  THE  AMERICAN 


ANSWER  TO  KATE  KEARNEY. 

Oh !  yes,  I  have  seen  this  Kate  Kearney, 
Who  lives  near  the  lake  of  Killamey  ; 
From  her  love  beaming  eye,  what  mortal  can  fly, 
Unsubdued  by  the  glance  of  Kate  Kearney. 

That  eye  so  seducingly  meaning, 
Assures  me  of  mischief  she's  dreaming, 
And  I  feel  'tis  in  vain,  to  fly  from  the  chain 
That  binds  me  to  lovely  Kate  Kearney. 

At  eve,  when  I've  seen  this  Kate  Kearney, 
On  the  flower  mantled  banks  of  Killamey, 
Her  smile  would  impart  thrilling  joy  to  my  hears* 
As  I  gazed  on  the  charming  Kate  Kearney. 

On  the  banks  of  Killamey  reclining, 

My  bosom  to  rapture  resigning, 

I've  felt  the  keen  smart,  of  love's  fatal  dart, 

And  inhaled  the  warm  sigh  of  Kate  Kearney. 

NAE  LUCK  ABOUT  THE  HOUSE, 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? 

And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel  ? 
Is  this  a  time  to  ta'k  o'  wark } 

Mak'  haste,  set  by  your  wheel ! 
Is  this  a  time  to  ta'k  o'  wark, 
When  Colin's  at  the  door  \ 
Gie  me  my  cloak,  I'll  to  the  quay, 
And  see  him  come  ashore. 
For  there's  oae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  ava, 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house, 
When  our  gudeman's  awa. 

Rise  up  and  mak'  a  clean  fireside, 

Put  on  the  meikle  pot; 
Gie  little  Kate  her  cotton  gown, 

And  Jock  his  Sunday's  coat; 


singer's  own  book.  195 

And  mak'  their  stioon  as  black  as  slaes, 

Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw: 
It's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman, 

For  he's  been  Lang  aw  a. 

For  there's  nae  luck,  &c. 

There  are  twa  hens  upon  the  bauk, 

They've  fed  this  month  and  mair; 
Mak'  haste,  and  thravv  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weci  may  fare  : 
And  spread  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw : 
It's  a'  for  love  o'  my  gudeman, 

For  he's  been  lang  awa. 

For  there's  nae  luck,  &c 

O  gie  me  down  my  bigonets. 

My  bishop-satin  gown ; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  Bailie's  wife, 

That  Colin's  come  to  town : 
My  Sunday's  shoon  they  maun  gae  on, 

My  hose  o'  pearl  blue  : 
It's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman, 

For  he's  baith  leal  and  true. 

For  there's  nae  luck,  &c. 

Sae  true's  his  word,  sae  smooth's  his  speeco, 

His  breath's  like  caller  air, 
His  very  foot  has  music  in't, 

'When  he  comes  up  the  stair. 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  t 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought ; 

In  troth,  I'm  like  to  greet. 

For  there's  nae  luck,  &c. 

The  cauld  blasts  o'  the  winter  wind, 

That  thirl'd  through  my  heart, 
They're  a'  blawn  by,  I  hae  him  safe, 

Till  death  we'll  never  part. 


196  THE  AMERICAN 

But  what  pits  parting  in  my  head  ? 

It  may  be  far  awa ; 
The  present  moment  is  our  ain, 

The  neist  we  never  saw. 

For  there's  nae  luck,  &c. 

Since  Colin's  weel,  I'm  weel  content, 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave ; 
Could  I  but  live  to  mak'  him  blest, 

I'm  blest  aboon  the  lave : 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak  ? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought; 

In  troth,  I'm  like  to  greet. 

For  there's  nae  luck,  &c. 


ALLEN-A-DALE. 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Alien-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle !  come,  hearken  my  tale, 
And  teJl  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  Baron  of  Ravensworth  prances  in  pride, 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side, 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame 
Yet  tne  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale, 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Ailen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  bel'ed  a  knight, 

Though  his  spear  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as 

bright : 
Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord, 
Yet  twenty  bold  yeomen  will  draw  at  his  word  ; 
And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  vail, 
Who  at  Rere-cross  or  Sianmore  meets  Allen-a-Dalo 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  197 

Allen-a-Dalc  to  his  wooing  is  come; 

The  mother  she  ask'd  of  his  house  and  his  home : 

•Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stands  fair  on  the 

hill, 
My  hall,'  quoth  bold  Allen,  'stands  gallanter  still: 
'Tis  the  blue  vaulted  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so 

pale, 
And  with  all  its  bright  spangles,'  said  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  father  was  steel  and  the  mother  was  stone, 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  begone : 
But  loud  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their  cry! 
He  had  laugh'd  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black  eye 
And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love  tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale. 


AND  HAS  SHE  THEN  FAILED. 

And  has  she  then  fail'd  in  her  truth  ? 

The  beautiful  maid  I  adore  ; 
Shall  I  never  again  hear  her  voice. 

Nor  see  her  loved  form  any  more  ? 
No,  no,  no,  I  never  shall  see  her  more. 

Ah,  Selima,  cruel  you  prove, 

Yet  sure  my  hard  lot  you'll  bewail; 

I  could  not  presume  you  would  love, 
Yet  pity  I  hoped  would  prevail. 

And  since  hatred  alone  I  inspire, 

Life  henceforth  is  not  worth  my  care, 

Death  now  is  my  only  desire, 
I  give  myself  up  to  despair. 


AH  NO!  DEAREST,  NO! 

It  is  not  where  bright  eves  are  brightest, 
ir  sweetest  music  wakes  the  tongue, 
Nor  where  the  bounding  step  is  lightest, 
A  thousand  gay  compeers  among. 


198  THE  AMERICAN 

'Tis  not  where  beams  the  loveliest  beauty 
That  round  the  heart  a  spell  can  throw, 

Aught  can  of  mine  defeat  the  duty, 
No,  dearest,  no !  ah  no !  dearest,  no ! 

It  is  not  where  the  diamond  trembles, 

Beneath  the  proudly  glittering  dome, 
Where  pleasure  all  her  train  assembles, 

And  seeks  the  heart  in  vain  a  home, 
A  smile,  a  power,  can  e'er  be  given 

That  worship'd  charm  to  overthrow, 
That  sheds  o'er  thee  a  grace  of  heaven, 

No,  dearest,  no!  ah  no!  dearest,  no! 


ANNA  OF  CONWAY. 

When  morn's  ruddy  blushes  illumine  the  sky, 
Away  o'er  the  mountains  I  cheerfully  hie, 
To  the  fair,  or  the  market,  whiche'er  it  may  be, 
I  care  not,  since  Anna  looks  kindly  on  me, 
Yes !  Anna  of  Conway  looks  kindly  on  me. 

As  I  push  off  my  boat,  when  the  evening  is  gray, 
A  supply  to  provide  for  the  market  next  day, 
O'er  the  fisherman's  labours  I  whistle  with  glee, 
Since  Anna,  sweet  Anna,  is  watching  for  me, 
Yes!  Anna  of  Conway  is  watching  for  me. 

Ere  long,  at  the  church,  wedlock's  knot  will  be  tied 
Then  proudly  I'll  bear  to  our  cottage  my  bride  ; 
My  bosom  from  care  and  anxiety  free, 
Since  Anna,  sweet  Anna,  smiles  only  for  me, 
Yes!  A.nna  of  Conway  smiles  only  for  me. 


BONNIE  WEE  WIFE. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine 


SINfiER'S  OWN  BOOK.  199 

I  never  saw  a  direr, 

I  never  lo'ed  a  dearer, 

And  iicisi  my  heart  I'll  wear  tier, 

For  fear  ray  jewel  tine. 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  handsome  wee  thing, 
She  is  a  bonnie  wee  thing, 
This  sweet  wee  wife  o'  mine. 

The  warld's  wraek  we  share  o't, 
The  warstle  and  the  eare  o't; 
Wi'  her  I'll  blithely  bear  it, 
And  think  my  lot  divine- 


THE  BIRKS  OF  ABERFELDY. 

Bonnie  lassie,  will  ye  go,  will  ye  go,  will  ye  go, 
Bonnie  lassie,  will  ye  go,  to  the  Birks  of  Abeifeldy? 
Now  simmer  blinks  on  flowery  braes, 
And  o'er  the  crystal  streamlets  plays; 
Come  let  us  spend  the  lightsome  days 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie  lassie,  &e. 

While  o'er  their  heads  the  hazels  hing, 
The  little  birdies  blithely  sing, 
Or  lightly  flit  on  wanton  wing 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie  lassie,  &c. 

The  braes  ascend  like  lofty  wa's, 
The  foaming  stream  deep-roaring  fa's, 
O'erhung  wi'  fragrant  spreading  shaws, 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie  la«sie,  &c. 

The  hoary  cliffs  are  crown'd  wi'  flowers, 
White  o'er  the  linns  the  burnie  pours, 
And,  rising,  weets  wi'  misty  showers 
The  Birks  of  Aberfeldv.' 

Bonnie  lassie,  &c. 


200  THE  AMERICAN 

Let  fortune's  gifts  at  random  flee, 
They  ne'er  shall  draw  a  wish  frae  me, 
Supremely  bless'd  wi'  love  and  thee, 
In  the  Birks  of  Aberfeldy. 

Bonnie  lassie,  &c. 


BEHAVE  YOURSEL'  BEFORE  FOLK. 

Air, — Good  morrow  to  your  night-cap. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 
And  dinna  be  sae  rude  to  me, 

As  kiss  me  sae  before  folk. 
It  wadna  gi'e  me  meikle  pain, 
Gin  we  were  seen  and  heard  by  nane, 
To  tak'  a  kiss,  or  grant  you  ane; 

But,  gudesake!  no  before  folk. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk. 
Whate'er  you  do,  when  out  o'  view, 

Be  cautious  aye  before  folk. 

Consider,  lad,  how  folk  will  crack, 
And  what  a  great  affair  they'll  mak' 
O'  naething  but  a  simple  smack, 

That's  gien  or  taen  before  folk. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  vourseP  before  folk; 
Nor  gi'e  the  tongue  o'  auld  or  young 

Occasion  to  come  o'er  folk. 

It's  no  through  hatred  o'  a  kiss, 
That  I  sae  plainly  tell  you  this; 
But,  losh!  I  tak'  it  sair  amiss 

To  be  sae  teas'd  before  folk. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk ; 
',Vhen  we're  our  lane  ye  may  tak'  ane 

But  fient  a  ane  before  folk. 


singer's  own  book.  201 

I'm  sum  wi'  yon  I've  been  ai  free 
As  ony  modest  lass  should  be  ; 

But  yet,  it  doetna  do  to  see 

freedom  used  before  folk. 

Behave  yoorsel'  before  folk, 

Belia ve  yoursel'  before  folk, 
I'll  ne'er  submit  again  to  it — 

So  mind  you  that — before  folk. 

Ve  tell  me  that  my  faee  is  fair; 
It  may  be  sac — I  dinna  care — 
But  ne'er  again  Lrar't  blush  sae  sair 
-  ye  hae  done  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Nor  heat  my  cheeks  wi'  your  mad  freaks, 

But  aye  be  douce  before  folk. 

Ye  tell  me  that  my  lips  are  sweet; 
Sic  tales,  I  doubt,  are  a'  deceit; 
At  ony  rate,  it's  hardly  meet 

To  prie  their  sweets  before  folk. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
Gin  that's  the  case,  there's  time  and  place, 

But  surely  no  before  folk. 

But,  gin  ye  really  do  insist 
That  I  should  suffer  to  be  kiss'd, 
Gae,  get  a  license  frae  the  priest, 

And  mak'  me  yours  before  folk. 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk, 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk; 
And  when  we're  ane,  bath  flesh  and  bane, 

Ye  may  tak'  ten — before  folk. 

BID  ME  DISCOURSE. 

Bid  me  discourse,  I  will  enchant  thine  ear, 

Or  like  a  fairy  trip  upon  the  green. 
Or  like  a  nymph  with  bright  and  flowing  hair, 

Dance  on  the  sands,  and  yet  no  footing  seen. 


202  THE  AMERICAN 


MERRILY  DANCE  ROUND  THE  MISSLETOE 

TREE. 

Come  hither!  come  hither!  the  silver  light 
Of  the  moon  shines  cheerfully  down  to-night. 
Come  hither!  for  this  is  the  season  of  glee, 
Let  us  merrily  dance  round  the  missletoe  tree. 

Oh!  welcome,  thou  plant  of  the  sacred  grove; 
Thou  innocent  pledge  of  Druidical  love.' 
I  care  not  how  distant  the  nymph  may  be, 
So  I  have  but  a  branch  of  the  missletoe  tree. 

The  missletoe  tree  has  been  hallowed  before; 
Be  it  thrice  sacred  now  for  the  girl  we  adore; 
When  sanctioned,  this   pearl-berried   plant  of  the 

grove, 
Will  yield  us  the  first  virgin  kiss  of  her  love. 

Come  hither!  then,  come!  w-hile  the  moon  shines 

bright ; 
The  heavens  themselves  beam  out  joy  to-night. 
Come  hither!  for  this  is  the  season  of  glee; 
Let  us  merrily  dance  round  the  missletoe  tree. 

DESERTED  BY  DECLINING  DAY. 

Air,— All's  Well. 

Deserted  by  declining  day, 
When  weary  wights  benighted  stray 
From  bush  or  cavern  we  appear, 
And  scare  the  traveller's  frighted  ear, 
With — stand  or  die— good  night— all's  welL 

Or  riding  home  from  fair  or  feast, 
Some  farmer  plodding  o'er  his  beast; 
His  wit  o'ertopp'd  by  humming  ale, 
While  thus  the  joskins  we  assail : 
Down  every  stiver  quickly  tell, 
Your  watch,  your  purse — good  night — all's  weJL 


singer's  own  BOOK.  203 


DEAR  NATIVE  HOME. 

Far  o'er  the  wave,  as  mom's  soft  beam  returning, 

Slowly  unveil'd  the  well-remember'd  shore, 
How  swcll'd  my  heart,  with  eager  fancies  burning, 
Dreams  of  past  joys,  and  hopes  of  priceless  store! 
Sweet  home,  receive  me! 

Faithful  I  come, 
Never  to  leave  thee, 
Dear  native  home! 

Vainly  for  me  love's  signal  radiance  bright'ning 
Flamed  from  his  altars  o'er  my  truant  way, — 

Absent  from  thee — the  summer's  beauteous  lightning 
Less  harmful  play'd  not  round  the  fading  day. 

Sweet  home,  <fcc. 

Cease,  ye  who  sing  the  wand'rer's  heartless  pleasures ! 

Leave,  leave  my  path! — no  more,  no  more  I  roam ; 
Here  lives  a  charm,  worth  all  uncounted  treasures — 

Here  breathes  the  sigh  of  welcome,  welcome  home! 

Sweet  home,  &c. 

DULCE  DOMUAI. 

Deep  in  a  vale  a  cottage  stood, 

Oft  sought  by  travellers  weary, 
And  long  it  proved  the  blest  abode 

Of  Edward  and  of  Mary. 
For  her  he  chased  the  mountain  goat, 

O'er  alps  and  glaciers  bounding; 
For  her  the  chamois  he  would  shoot. 
Dark  horrors  all  surrounding. 
But  ev'ning  come, 

He  sought  his  home,  «, 

And  anxious  lovely  woman, 
She  hail'd  the  sight, 
And  ev'ry  night 
The  cottage  rang, 
As  thus  they  sung: 
Oh!  dulce,  dulce  domum. 


204  THE  AMERICAN 


But  soon,  alas!  this  scene  of  bliss 

Was  changed  to  prospects  dreary; 
For  war  and  honour  roused  each  Swiss, 

And  Edward  left  his  Mary. 
To  bold  St  Gothard's  height  he  rush'd, 

'Gainst  Gallia's  foes  contending; 
And,  by  unequal  numbers  crush'd, 
He  died  his  land  defending. 
The  ev'ning  come, 
He  sought  not  home, 
Whilst  she,  distracted  woman, 
Grown  wild  with  dread, 
Now  seeks  him  dead ; 
And  hears  the  knell 
That  bids  farewell 
To  dulce,  dulce  domum. 

ENCOMPASSED  IN  AN  ANGEL'S  FRAME. 

Encompass'd  in  an  angel's  frame 

An  angel's  virtues  lay ; 
Too  soon  did  heaven  assert  the  claim, 

And  call'd  its  own  away. 
My  Anna's  worth,  my  Anna's  charms, 

Must  never  more  return ; 
What  now  rhall  fill  these  widow'd  arms? 

Ah,  me! — my  Anna's  urn. 

Can  I  forget  that  bliss  refined, 

WTiich  blest  when  her  I  knew? 
Our  hearts  in  sacred  bonds  entwined, 

Were  bound  by  love  too  true. 
The  rural  train,  which  once  we  used 

In  festive  dance  to  turn, 
So  pleased  when  Anna  they  amused, 

Now,  weeping,  deck  her  urn. 

The  soul  escaping  from  its  chain, 

She  clasp'd  me  to  her  breast, 
1  To  part  with  thee  is  all  my  pain  P 

She  cried — then  sunk  to  rest. 


singer's  own  book.  205 

While  mem'ry  shall  her  seat  retain, 

From  beauteous  Anna  torn, 
My  heart  shall  breathe  its  ceaseless  strain 

Of  sorrow  o'er  her  urn. 

There  with  the  earliest  dawn,  a  dove 

Laments  her  murder'd  mate; 
There  Philomela,  lost  to  love, 

Tells  the  pale  moon  her  fate. 
With  yew  and  ivy  round  me  spread, 

My  Anna  there  I'll  mourn; 
For  all  my  soul — now  she  is  dead, 

Concentres  in  her  urn. 

THE  SONG  OF  DEATH. 

Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth,  and  ye 
skies, 

Now  gay  with  the  broad  setting  sun  ; 
Farewell,  love  and  friendship,  ye  dear  tender  ties! 

Our  race  of  existence  is  run. 
Thou  grim  king  of  terrors!  thou  life's  gloomy  foe  ! 

Go  frighten  the  coward  and  slave ; 
Go  teach  them  to  tremble,  fell  tyrant!  but  know, 

No  terrors  hast  thou  to  the  brave. 

Thou  strikest  the  dull  peasant,  he  sinks  in  the  dark 

Nor  saves  e'en  the  wreck  of  a  name ; 
Thou  strikest  the  young  hero,  a  glorious  mark, 

He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame. 
In  the  field  of  proud  honour,  our  swords  in  our  handt; 

Our  home  and  our  country  to  save, 
While  victory  shines  on  life's  last  ebbing  sands, 

O!  who  would  not  die  with  the  brave?     x 

ERE  BRIGHT  ROS1NA  MET  MY  EYES. 

Ere  bright  Rosina  met  my  eyes, 

How  peaceful  pass'd  the  joyous  day; 

In  rural  sports  I  gain'd  the  prize, 
Each  virgin  listen  Yi  to  my  lay 


208  THE  AMERICAN 


But  now  no  more  I  touch  the  lyre, 
No  more  the  rustic  sport  can  please ; 

I  live  the  slave  of  fond  desire, 
Lost  to  myself,  to  mirth,  and  ease. 

The  tree,  which  in  a  happier  hour 
Its  boughs  extended  o'er  the  plain, 

When  blasted  by  the  lightning's  power, 
Nor  charms  the  eye  nor  shades  the  swain 

HERE'S  THE  BOTTLE. 

Here's  the  bottle  she  loved  so  much, 

And  here's  the  glass  she  drank  from, 
Here's  the  max  her  lips  oft  touch'd, 

The  stuff  they  never  shrank  from 
Herrings  lie  unheeded  by, 

Where's  the  hand  to  gut  them? 
Mackerel  here  neglected  lie, 

Where's  the  throat  to  hoot  them? 

Max  is  good,  but  she  I  loved 

Ne'er  shall  taste  its  sweetness; 
Her  lips  that  once  so  fleetly  moved, 

Now  have  lost  their  fleetness. 
Gallons  were  pots  when  here  sne  strayed, 

Pots  were  pints  to  her  muzzle, 
Heaven  ne'er  formed  a  drunker  maid, 

A  maid  so  fond  of  guzzle. 

HAME  FRAE  THE  WARS. 

Hame  frae  the  wars,  broken,  friendless,  and  poor, 

Hame  frae  the  wars,  to  my  Scotland  I  came; 
I  saw  my  dear  cabin  just  o'er  the  lang  muir, 

I  stood  in  the  gate — but  I  found  not  a  hame. 
Oh!  'twas  desolate  a' — an'  the  smile  o'  my  dearie 

Nae  langer  shone  there,  darting  love  through  the 
breast  ; 
Nae  bosom  o'  truth  for  the  wounded  and  wearie, 

Nae  lips  of  affection  to  sweeten  my  rest. 


singer's  own  book.  207 

No!  my  wife  and  my  wean  i'  the  cauld  grave  are 
sleeping, 
And  thou,  oh !  my  Scotland,  art  nameless  to  me. 
The  heart  o'  my  love  brake  wi'  wailing  and  weeping, 
Ance  sae  warm,  now  'tis  chill — oh!  as  mine  soon 
may  be! 
Then  I'll  e'en  lay  me  down  by  my  hearthstane  de- 
serted, 
And  dream  o'  my  love  in  the  land  o'  the  leal; 
Death,  death  will  befriend  the  forlorn,  broken-hearted, 
And  heal  the  deep  wound  that  time  never  can  heal 

HE  IS  GONE  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN. 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest: 
The  font  reappearing 

From  the  rain-drops  shall  borrow, 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow! 

The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoar}-, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  manhood  in  glory; 
The  autumn-winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest, 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi, 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 
Red  hand  in  the  foray. 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber! 
Like  the  dew  en  the  mountain, 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain. 

Thou  art  gone — and  for  ever! 


208  THE  AMERICAN 


WANDERING  WILLIE. 

Here  awa,  there  awa,  wandering  Willie, 
Here  awa,  there  awa,  haud  away  hame  : 

Come  to  my  bosom,  my  ain  only  dearie, 
Tell  me  thou  bringest  me  my  Willie  the  same. 

Winter  winds  blew  loud  and  cauld  at  our  parting, 
Fears  for  my  Willie  brought  tears  to  my  e'e, 

Welcome  now  simmer,  and  welcome  my  Willie, 
The  simmer  to  nature,  my  Willie  to  me. 

Rest,  ye  wild  slorms,  in  the  cave  of  your  slumbers, 
How  vour  dread  howling'  a  lover  alarms! 

Waken,  ye  breezes!  row  gently,  ye  billows! 
And  waft  my  dear  laddie  ance  mair  to  my  arms. 

But,  oh,  if  he's  faithless,  and  minds  nae  his  Nannie, 
Flow  still  between  us,  thou  wide-roaring  main! 

May  I  never  see  it,  may  I  never  trow  it, 
But,  dying,  believe  that  my  Willie's  my  ain! 

HAD  I  A  HEART  FOR  FALSEHOOD  FRAMED 

Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed, 

I  ne'er  could  injure  you ; 
For  though  your  tongue  no  promise  claimed, 

Your  charms  would  make  me  true; 
To  you  no  soul  shall  bear  deceit, 

No  stranger  offer  wrong, 
But  friends  in  all  the  aged  you'll  meet, 

And  lovers  in  the  young. 

But  when  they  learn  that  you  have  bless'd 

Another  with  your  heart, 
They'll  bid  aspiring  passion  rest, 

And  act  a  brother's  part; 
Then,  lady,  dread  not  here  deceit, 

Nor  fear  to  suffer  wrong, 
For  friends  in  all  trie  aged  you'll  meet, 

And  lovers  in  the  young. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  20$ 


I  AM  A  FRIAR. 

I  am  a  friar  of  orders  gray, 
And  down  the  valleys  I  take  my  way; 
I  pull  not  blackberry,  haw,  or  hip, 
Good  store  of  venison  does  fill  my  scrip: 
My  long  beadroll  I  merrily  chant, 
Where'er  I  walk  no  money  I  want. 
And  why  I'm  so  plump,  the  reason  I  tell, 
Who  leads  a  good  life  is  sure  to  live  well. 
What  baron,  or  'squire, 
Or  knight  of  the  shire, 
Lives  half  so  well  as  a  holy  friar! 

After  supper  of  heaven  I  dream; 
But  that  is  fat  pullet  and  clouted  cream: 
Myself  by  denial  I  mortify, 
With  a  dainty  bit  of  a  warden  pie : 
I'm  clothed  in  sackcloth  for  my  sin; 
With  old  sack  wine  I'm  lined  within. 
A  chirping  cup  is  my  matin  song, 
And  the  vesper  bell  is  my  bowl,  ding  dong. 
What  baron,  or  'squire,  &c. 

THIS  LOVE— HOW  IT  PLAGUES  ME. 

Words  by  D.  Weir. 

This  love,  how  it  plagues  me,  young  Ellen  did  say- 
As  she  sat  at  her  wheel,  on  a  fine  summer's  day; 
Before  I  saw7  Sandy  I  rose  with  the  lark, 
And  as  merrily  sang  frae  the  morning  till  dark ; 
But  now.  when  I'm  singing,  he  comes  in  my  mind, 
Tho'  he's  neither  before  me,  not  yet  is  behind : 
O  love,  do  you  plague  ilka  body  like  me, 
For  Sandy  ne'er  promised  a  lover  to  be  ? 

Wi'  me  at  the  gloaming  we've  wander'd  alane, 
And  at  kirk,  and  at  market,  wi'  me  he  has  gane ; 
He  speaks  not  of  love,  but  he's  blithe  when  we  meet, 
J\or  allows  me  to  pass  unobserv'd  in  the  street. 


210  THE   AMERICAN 

Be  still  then,  my  heart,  let  my  wheel  go  its  round. 
For  mother  will  wonder  what's  come  o'  thy  sound  , 
T  needna  be  jealous,  for  why  should  I  be, 
Since  Sandy  ne'er  promised  his  true  love  to  me. 

While  Ellen  was  musing,  the  door  it  flew  wide, 
In  a  moment  young  Sandy  was  down  by  her  side ; 
I'm  come,  my  dear  Ellen,  you  mauna  say  nay, 
To  ask  you  to  wed  me,  and  Tuesday's  the  day ; 
Your  mother's  consented,  O  now  my  love  speak, — 
Yet  she  said  not  a  word,  and  pale  grew  her  cheek; 
At  length  with  a  smile,  and  the  tear  in  her  e'e, 
She  clung  to  his  bosom,  and  said,  ■  It  will  be.' 


LOVE  WAKES  Ax\D  WEEPS. 

A   DUET. 

Words  by  Sir  W.  Scott. — Arranged  by  Parry. 

Love  wakes  and  weeps 

While  Beauty  sleeps  ? 
O  for  Music's  softest  numbers, 

To  prompt  a  theme, 

For  Beauty's  dream, 
Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers  ? 

Through  groves  of  palm, 

Sigh  gales  of  balm, 
Fire-flies  on  the  air  are  wheeling  ; 

While  through  the  gloom, 

Comes  soft  perfume, 
The  distant  beds  of  flowers  revealing. 

O  wake  and  live ! 

No  dream  can  give 
A  shadowed  bliss  the  real  excelling ; 

No  longer  sleep, 

From  lattice  peep, 
And  list  the  tale  that  Love  is  telling. 


singer's  own  book.  211 


MAN  THE  BROTHER  OF  MAN. 

Let  the  epicure  boast  the  delight  of  his  soul, 

In  the  bjgh-eeason'd  dish, and  the  rich  flowing  bowl; 

Can  they  give  such  true  joys  as  benevolence  can, 

Or  as  charity  feels  when  it  benefits  man  ? 

Let  him  know  the  kind  impulse  that  sutlers  with  grief, 

Let  him  taste  the  delight  of  affording  relief. 

Let  him  serve  the  great  Author  of  Nature's  great  plan, 

Who  design'd  man  to  act  as  the  brother  of  man! 

Though  dcceiv'd  by  a  friend,  let  him  see  what  he'll 

gain, 
When  the  impulse  of  anger  he  learns  to  restrain ; 
Though  great  the  offence,  oh!  forgive  if  you  can, 
For  revenge  is  a  monster  disgraceful  to  man. 
Think  the  chapter  of  life  oft  reverses  the  scene, 
And  the  rich  man  becomes  what  the  poor  man  has 

been; 
Think  that  chapter  must  end,  for  but  short  i3  the  span 
That  will  give  us  the  power  to  benefit  man. 


SHE  SUNG,  BUT  AFRAID  OF  HER  OWN 
SWEET  VOICE. 

Words  by  D.  Weir. — Music  by  F.  W.  Crouch. 

She  sung — but  afraid  of  her  own  sweet  voice, 

Each  note  of  the  music  all  tremblingly  came; 
And  it  stele  o'er  the  heart  like  the  winds  that  rejoice, 

When  the  flow'rets  of  summer  are  breathing  the 
same. 
O  was  it  the  music  with  soft  flowing  swell, 

That  spoke  to  her  heart  and  awaken'd  the  sigh  ? 
Ah!  no,  it  was  love,  and  her  blushes  might  tell, 

That  she  tremblea  to  sing,  for  her  lover  was  nigh 

Love's  bondage  is  strong — but  as  delicate  too, 
And  hearts  that  are  fondest  are  soonest  afraid ; 


212  THE    AMERICAN 

Love  shrinks  from  the  gaze  like  the  bird  from  out 
view, 
That  sings  the  night  long  in  the  depths  of  the  shade. 
Like  the  nightingale,  too,  young  Ellen  could  sing, 

And  as  sweet  would  the  notes  of  her  witchery  tell 
Butcharm'd  with  its  sweetness  Love  flutler'd  his  wing 
While  she  sigh'd,  and  she  blushed,  tho'  she  warbled 
so  well. 


CUPID'S  VISIT. 
Words  by  Weir. — Music  by  F.  W.  Crouch. 

Love,  wand 'ring  thro'  the  rain, 

Came  to  my  cottage  door ; 
He  ask'd  but  to  remain 

Until  the  storm  was  o'er. 
His  bow  he  laid  aside ; 

He  said  his  darts  were  gone ; 
And  oft  he  deeply  sigh'd, 

And  wish'd  to  travel  on. 

The  moon  at  length  grew  bright; 

The  storms  no  longer  blew ; 
He  rose  and  bade  good  night, 

And  with  a  smile  withdrew. 
Next  day  mv  heart  was  sad, 

?sor  could  I  e'er  forget 
The  mournful  look  he  had 

When  at  the  door  we  met. 

The  smile  at  parting  loo, 

Had  something  sweet  and  kind ; 
And  as  the  boy  withdrew, 

His  image  stay'd  behind. 
And  ever  since  that  hour, 

When  loud's  the  wind  and  ram, 
I  watch  my  cottage  door, 

In  hopes  he'll  come  again 


singer's  own  book.  213 


I  HAVE  A  SILENT  SORROW  HERE. 

I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here, 

A  grief  I'll  ne'er  impart : 
It  breathes  no  Bigh,  it  sheds  no  tear, 

But  it  consumes  my  heart. 
This  cherish'd  woe,  this  loved  despair, 

My  lot  for  ever  be; 
So,  my  soul's  lord,  the  pargs  I  bear 

Be  never  known  by  thee. 

And  when  pale  characters  of  death 
Shall  mark  this  alter'd  cheek; 

When  my  poor  wasted  trembling  breath 
My  life's  last  hope  would  speak: 

I  shall  not  raise  my  eyes  to  heaven, 
Nor  mercy  ask  for  me ; 

My  soul  despairs  to  be  forgiven, 
Unpardon'd,  love,  by  thee. 


MY  EARLY  LOVE. 

My  early  love!  I'll  think  on  thee, 

When  evening  seeks  its  crimson  throne, 
Sweet  hour!  which  gentle  memory 

Delights  to  consecrate  her  own ; 
Ah!  then  thy  cherish'd  image  clings 

To  all  I  meet,  or  hear,  or  see, 
And  twilight's  breeze,  like  music,  brings 

Thy  voice  of  gladness  back  to  me. 

Friendship's  young  bloom  may  pass  away, 

As  dreams  depart  the  sleeper's  mind; 
The  hopes  of  life's  maturer  day 

May  fni\c,  and  leave  no  trace  behind; 
But  early  love  can  never  die, 

That  fairest  bud  of  spring's  bright  years, 
Twill  still  look  green  in  memory, 

When  time  all  other  feeling  sears. 


214  THE    AMERICAN 


THE  .MOTHERLESS. 

Ah !  say  not  thou  art  lonely  now, 

Whiie  I  am  by  thy  side! 
Nor  hope  that  smiles  would  light  thy  brow 

Won  by  a  new-made  Bride  ! 

Oh  stay  !  till  time  its  b?lm  hath  pour'd, 
And  pass'd  with  healing  wing 

O'er  our  wrung  heart.?,  ere  to  our  board 
That  stranger  thou  shalt  bring ! 

Here  are  the  birds  she  used  to  love, 

The  flow'rs  she  used  to  tend  ; 
There  hangs  the  web  her  fingers  wove, 

Where  varied  colours  blend. 

The  open  book,  the  vacant  chair, 

The  now  forsaken  lute, 
Tho'  voiceless,  tell  thee  "she  was  there"— 

Is  mem'rv  onlv  mute  ? — 

Look  on  her  semblance, — 'tis  the  shield 

That  next  my  heart  I  bear: 
And  ask  thy  love  if  it  could  yield, 

Another's  chains  to  wear  ? 

Gaze  on  that  meek,  upbraiding  brow, 
Where  heav'n  its  seal  has  set; 

Then  go, — and  if  thou  canst  allow 
Thy  bosom  to  forget 

Thou  wilt  not,  Father !  no,  I  see 

The  orphan's  pray'r  is  won, 
Thou  wilt  not  link  our  destiny 

With  that  ungentle  one! 

JNo !  by  the  tear  that  gems  thine  eye, 

This  long  and  dear  embrace, 
I  feel  the  child  will  still  supply 

The  mother's  vacant  place ! 


singer's  own  book.  215 


THE  SWEETS  OF  LIBERTY. 
Air, — Is  there  a  heart  ileal  never  loved. 

Is  there  a  man  that  never  sigh'd 

To  set  the  prisoner  free? 
Is  there  a  man  that  never  prized 

The  sweets  of  liberty? 
Then  let  him,  let  him  breathe  unseen, 

Or  in  a  dungeon  live; 
Nor  never,  never  know  the  sweets         , 

That  liberty  can  give. 

Is  there  a  heart  so  cold  in  man, 

Can  galling  fetters  crave? 
Is  there  a  wretch  so  truly  low, 

Can  stoop  to  be  a  slave? 
O,  let  him,  then,  in  chains  be  bound, 

In  chains  and  bondage  live ; 
Nor  never,  never  know  the  sweeLs 

That  liberty  can  give- 
Is  there  a  breast  so  chilled  in  life, 

Can  nurse  the  coward^s  sigh? 
Is  there  a  creature  so  debased, 

Would  not  for  freedom  die? 
O,  let  him,  then,  be  doom'd  to  crawl 

Where  only  reptiles  live; 
Nor  never,  never  know  the  sweets 

That  liberty  can  give. 

BOLD  AND  TRUE. 

O  Bold  and  True, 

In  bonnet  blue, 

That  fear  or  falsehood  never  knew; 

Whose  heart  was  loyal  to  his  word; 

Whose  hand  was  faithful  to  his  sword- — 

Seek  Europe  wide  from  sea  to  sea. 

But  bonny  Blue-cap  still  for  me. 


216  THE  AMERICAN 

I've  seen  Almain's  proud  champions  prance- 
Have  seen  the  gallant  knights  of  France, 
Unrivall'd  with  the  sword  and  lance — 
Have  seen  the  sons  of  England  true, 
Wield  the  brown  bill,  and  bend  the  yew: 
Search  France  the  fair,  and  England  free, 
But  bonny  Blue-cap  still  for  me! 

SONG  TO  THE  LADYBIRD. 

Ladybird,  ladybird,  fly  away  home, 

The  field  mouse  is  gone  to  her  nest ; 
The  daisies  have  shut  up  their  sleepy  red  eyes, 

And  the  bees  and  the  birds  are  at  rest. 

Ladybird,  ladybird,  %  away  home, 
The  glow-worm  is  lighting  her  lamp ; 

The  dew's  falling  fast,  and  your  fine  speckled  wings 
Will  flag  with  the  close-clinging  damp. 

Ladybird,  ladybird,  fly  away  home, 

Good  luck  if  you  reach  it  at  last, 
The  owl's  come  abroad,  and  the  bat's  on  the  roam. 

Sharp  set  from  their  Ramazan  fast. 

Ladybird,  ladybird,  fly  away  home, 

The  fairy-bells  tinkle  afar, 
Make  haste,  or  they'll  catch  ye,  and  harness  ye  fast, 

With  a  cobweb  to  Oberon's  car! 


SEE !  THE  CONQUERING  HERO  COMES. 

See !  the  conquering  hero  comes  ; 
Sound  the  trumpet,  beat  the  drums, 
Sports  prepare,  the  laurel  bring, 
Songs  of  triumph  to  him  sing. 

See  the  godlike  youth  advance; 
Breathe  the  flutes  and  lead  the  dance, 
Myrtles  wreath,  and  roses  twine, 
To  deck  the  hero's  brows  divine. 


singer's  own  BOOK.  217 


MY  HEART  IS  THINE. 

Ask  not  why  it  is  I  love  thee, 

Why  ! — Why  is  heaven  divine? 
I  only  know  I  cannot  tell  thee, 

But  my  heart,  my  heart  is  thine. 
Why  loves  the  breeze  at  noon  to  sigh? 

Why  cease,  why  cease  the  stars  to  shine  ? 
I  cannot  solve.  I  know  not  whv, 

But  my  heart,  my  heart  is  thine. 
Whv  loves  the  breeze  at  noon  to  sigh  ? 

Why  cease,  why  cease  the  stars  to  shine? 
I  cannot  solve,  I  know  not  whv, 

But  my  heart,  my  heart  is  thine. 

Though  others  smile  with  kindness  on  me, 

This  heart,  this  heart  alone  is  thine, 
Its  every  pulse  an  oflPring  to  thee, 

So  hallowed  is  its  shrine. 
The  sun  will  hold  his  onward  course, 

Thus  does  my  love,  my  love  incline 
To  thee,  and  nought  on  earth  can  force 

My  heart,  my  heart  fiv>m  being  thine. 

In  vain  thou  bidst  me  to  forget  thee, 

Death  will  first,  will  first  be  mine — 
E'en  then  my  flitting  soul  shall  bless  thee, 

For  my  heart,  my  heart  is  thine. 
Each  thought  that  haunts  my  fever'd  brain, 

From  love's  first  dawn  is  thine,  is  thine, 
And  this  the  latest,  breathes  again 

That  my  heart,  my  heart  is  thine. 


WELCOME  ME  HOME. 

Gaily  the  Troubadour  touch'd  his  guitar, 
When  he  was  hastening  home  from  the  war 
Singing,  'From  Palestine,  hither  I  come, 
Lady  love,  lady  love,  welcome  me  home.' 


218  THE  AMERICAN 


She  for  the  Troubadour,  hopelessly  wept, 
Sadly  she  thought  of  him,  when  others  slept, 
Singing,  '  In  search  of  thee,  would  I  might  roam, 
Troubadour,  troubadour,  come  to  thy  home.' 

Hark!  'twas  the  Troubadour,  breathing  her  name, 
Under  the  battlement  softly  he  came, 
Singing,  '  From  Palestine,  hither  I  come, 
Lady  love,  lady  love,  welcome  me  home/ 


LOVE  IN  THE  HEART. 

What  is  it  that  drives  the  red  rose  from  the  cheek, 
Or  the  lily  displace,  by  blushes  that  speak? 
That  dims  the  bright  beam  by  a  tear  in  the  eye, 
That  checks  the  young  smile  by  the  murm'ringsigh? 

'Tis  love,  'tis  love  in  the  heart, 

'Tis  love,  'tis  love  in  the  heart. 

What  bids  the  soul  the  emotion  declare, 

By  the  glance  of  an  eye,  when  the  lips  do  not  dare? 

'Tis  love,  'tis  love  in  the  heart, 

'Tis  love,  'tis  love  in  the  heart 

And  what,  when  its  meaning  another  can  guess, 
Emboldens  the  tongue  the  fond  thought  to  express? 

'Tis  love,  'tis  love  in  the  heart, 

'Tis  love,  'tis  love  in  the  heart. 


ALKXOMOOK. 

The  sun  sets  at  night  and  the  stars  shun  the  day, 
But  glory  remains  when  the  light  fades  away; 

Begin,  ye  tormentors,  your  threats  are  in  vain, 
1  or  the  son  of  Alknomook  shall  never  complain. 

Remember  the  arrows  he  shot  from  his  bow, 
Remember  your  chiefs  by  his  hatchet  laid  low; 

Why  so  slow!  do  you  wait  till  I  shrink  from  my  pain? 
No — the  son  of  Alknomook  shall  never  complain- 


singer's  own  book.  219 

Remember  the  wood,  where  in  ambush  wo  lay, 
And  the  scalps  which  we  bora  from  your  nation 
aw  a 

Now  the  flame  rises  fast,  you  exult  in  my  pain; 
But  the  son  of  Alknomook  shall  never  complain. 

I  go  to  the  land  where  ray  rather  is  gone,; 

His  ghost  shall  rejoice  in  the  fame  of  his  son; 
Death  comes  like  a  friend,  to  relieve  me  from  pain, 

And  thy  son,  oh!  Alknomook,  has  scorn'd  to  com 

plain. 

BURIAL  OF  SIR  THOMAS  MOORE. 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note, 

As  his  corse  to  the  ramparts  we  hurried  ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot, 

O'er  the  grave  w  here  our  hero  we  buried. 
We  buried  him  darkly  at  dead  of  night, 

The  sod  with  our  bayonets  turning; 
By  the  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 

And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 

No  useless  coffin  confined  his  breast. 

Nor  in  sheet  or  shroud  we  bound  him; 
But  he  lav  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest, 

Willi  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 
Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  said, 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  : 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  race  of  the  dead, 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought,  as  we  heap'd  his  narrow  bed, 
And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow, 

That  the  toe  and  the  stranger  would  tread  o'er  his 
head. 

And  we  far  away  on  the  billow! 
Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that's  gone, 

And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him  ; 
But  nothing  he'll  reck  if  they'll  let  him  sleep  on. 

In  the  grave  w  here  a.  Briton  has  laid  him. 


220  THE  AMERICAN 


But  half  our  heavy  task  was  done, 

When  the  clock  toll'd  the  hour  for  retiring, 
And  we  heard  by  the  distant  and  random  gun, 

That  the  foe  was  sullenly  firing. 
Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory; 
We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone ; 

But  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory. 

MERRILY  BOUNDS  THE  BARK. 

Merrily,  merrily,  bounds  the  bark, 

She  bounds  before  the  gale; 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Binnadarch 

Is  joyous  in  her  sail. 

With  fluttering  sound,  like  laughter  hoarse 

The  cords  and  canvass  strain; 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force, 
In  rippling  eddies  chase  her  course, 

As  if  they  laugh'd  again. 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark, 

O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven ; 
Her  path  by  Ronin's  mountain  dark, 

The  steersman's  hand  has  given. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark, 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free, 

So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark, 
Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark, 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds  ; 
So  flies  the  dolphin  from  the  shark, 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 

They  paused  not  at  Columbia's  isle, 
Though  peal'd  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile 
With  long  and  measured  toil : 

]\o  time  for  matin  or  for  mass, 

And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 
Away  in  the  billow's  roll. 


singer's  own  book.  221 


THE  THORN. 

From  the  white-blossom'd  sloe,  my  dear  Chloe  re- 
quested 

A  sprig  her  fair  breast  to  adorn; 
No,  by  heavens!  I  exclaim'd,  may  I  perish,  if  ever 

I  plant  in  that  bosom  a  thorn. 

Then  I  show'd  her  a  ring,  and  implored  her  to  marry; 

She  blush 'd  like  the  dawning  of  morn ; 
Yes,  I'll  consent,  she  replied,  if  you'll  promise 

That  no  jealous  rival  shall  laugh  me  to  scorn. 
No,  by  heavens!  I  exclaim'd,  may  I  perish,  if  ever 

I  plant  in  that  bosom  a  thorn. 

MY  HIGHLAND  HOME. 

My  Highland  home,  where  tempests  blow, 

And  cold  thy  wintry  looks, 
Thy  hills  are  crown'd  with  driven  snow 

And  ice-bound  are  thy  brooks ; 
But  colder  far  the  Scotsman's  heart, 

However  far  he  roam. 
To  whom  these  words  no  joy  impart, — 
My  native  Highland  home. 

Then  gang  with  me  to  Scotland,  dear, 

We  ne'er  again  will  roam ; 
And  with  thy  smiles,  so  bonny,  cheer 
My  native  Highland  home. 

When  summer  comes,  the  heather  bell 

Shall  tempt  thy  feet  to  rove ; 
The  cushat  dove,  within  the  dell, 

Invites  to  peace  and  lo\ 
For  blithesome  is  the  face  of  day, 

And  sweet's  the  bonnie  broom  ; 
And  pure  the  dimpling  rills  (hat  play 

Around  my  Highland  home. 

Then  gang  with  me  to  Scotland,  &c. 


222  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  MULETEER. 

Soon  as  the  sun  his  early  ray 

Across  the  misty  mountain  flings; 
The  Muleteer  now  takes  his  way, 

And  merrily  thus  he  sweetly  sings: 
Oh  haste,  my  mules,  we  must  not  creep, 

Nor  saunter  on  so  slow; 
Our  journey's  long,  the  mountain  steep, 

We've  many  a  league  to  go. 

At  fall  of  eve,  his  labour  o'er, 

He  homeward  hastes,  and  sings  with  glee; 
My  mules,  speed  to  my  cottage  door, 

For  there  my  Lilla  waits  for  me. 
Speed  on,  my  mules,  the  sun  sets  fast, 

The  shades  of  night  I  see; 
There's  many  a  league  yet  to  be  pass'd, 

And  Lilla  waits  for  me. 


THE  MULETEER'S  RETURN. 

'Tis  night — where  strays  my  muleteer  ? 

Ah!  why  does  he  from  Lilla  roam? 
For  well  he  knows  my  heart  is  drear, 

When  he  is  from  his  mountain  home ; 
But,  soft!  what  music  greets  mine  ear? 

What  strain  comes  o'er  the  dell  ? 
Oh !  joy  to  me,  the  night- winds  bear 

The  sound  of  distant  bell. 

Oh!  speed  ye,  mules,  the  queen  of  night 

Hath  kiss'd  the  sparkling  mountain  rills, 
And  spread  her  fairest  robes  of  light, 

To  guide  ye  o'er  the  drerry  hills. 
They  come!  they  come!  their  tramp  I  hear, 

Their  weary  forms  I  see, 
And  soon  they'll  bear  my  muleteer 

In  joy  again  to  me. 


singer's  own  book.  223 


PIRATE'S  SOXG. 

Oh!  lady,  come  to  ihe  Indies  with  me, 
And  reign  and  rule  on  the  sunny  sea; 
My  ship  ilace,  my  deck's  a  throne, 

And  all  shall  be  thine,  love,  the  sun  shines  on. 

Then  ladv,  &c. 

A  gallant  ship  and  a  boundless  sea, 
A  piping  wind,  and  the  foe  on  our  lee, 
My  pennon  streaming  so  gay  from  the  mast, 
My  cannon  flashing  so  bright  and  fast. 

Then,  lady,  &c. 

Raven  locks  are  worth  Java's  Isle, 
Can  the  spices  of  Saba  buy  thy  srnile  ? 
The  glories  of  sea  and  the  splendour  of  land, 
They  all  shall  be  thine  for  the  wave  of  thy  hand 

Then,  lady,  &c. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  MIXSTREL  KXIGHT. 

'Oh!  list  to  my  lay,'  said  a  minstrel  gray, 

As  he  paused  at  a  baron's  proud  hall, 
The  lord  said  '  Nay,'  the  lady  said  '  Aj  e,' 

But  fair  Ernmehne  spoke  not  at  all. 
Then  a  strain  he  sung,  till  the  castle  walls  rung, 

For  his  voice  had  wondrous  power; 
And  sweet  was  the  tale,  as  the  summer  eve's  gale 

When  it  kisses  the  sleeping  flower. 

'In  the  holy  land,  on  king  Richard's  right  hand, 

Fought  one  for  his  lady-love ; 
By  a  father's  nride  his  suit  was  denied, 

But  vows  are  recorded  above.' 
Fair  Ernmehne  listened,  until  her  eye  glisten'd 

With  trembling  yet  sweet  surprise  ; 
For  the  minstrel,  she  knew,  was  her  Leoline  true, 

Though  shrouded  iu  dim  disguise  ! 


224  THE  AMERICAN 


WOMAN'S  WORTH. 

Oh!  not  when  hopes  are  brightest, 

Is  all  love's  sweet  enchantment  known: 
Oh!  not  when  hearts  are  lightest, 

Is  all  fond  woman's  fervour  shown: 
But  when  life's  clouds  o'ertake  us, 

And  the  cold  world  is  clothed  in  gloom; 
When  summer  friends  forsake  us, 

The  rose  of  \ove  is  best  in  bloom. 

Love  is  no  wandering  vapour, 

That  lures  astray  with  treach'rous  spark; 
Love  is  no  transient  taper, 

That  lives  an  hour  and  leaves  us  dark: 
But,  like  the  lamp  that  lightens 

The  Greenland  hut  beneath  the  snow, 
The  bosom's  home  it  brightens, 

When  all  beside  is  chill  below. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SHEPHERD'S  LAY. 

Oh!  roam  with  me  o'er  distant  hills, 

When  day  is  in  the  west; 
And  when  upon  the  mountain  rills, 

The  twilight  sinks  to  rest. 
When  listening  echo  leaves  her  cell, 

And  wanders  on  her  way; 
Or  when  she  bears  o'er  hill  and  dell, 

The  mountain  shepherd's  lay. 

For  wild  and  simple  though  it  be, 

That  strain  of  joy  can  tell, 
And  bring  in  memory  back  to  me, 

The  hours  I  loved  so  well; 
When  hopes  were  young  and  hearts  w  ere  warm, 

And  one  with  me  would  stray, 
And  hear,  at  eve,  in  storm  or  calm, 

The  mountain  shepherd's  lay. 


singer's  own  book.  220 


Till:  FIDDLER  BOY. 
Air, — The  Minstrel  Boy, 

The  Fiddler's  Boy  to  the  fair  is  gone, 

In  a  rattling  booth  you'll  find  him, 
With  baa  master's  fiddle  (for  his  own's  in  pawn) 

In  a  green  bag  slung  behind  him. 
'House  of  Malt,'  says  the  fuddling  elf, 

'Though  all  the  world  despise  thee, 
One  fiddler  is  left,  and  will  spend  his  last  pelf, 

One  fiddler  will  still  pairomze  thee.' 

The  fiddler  drank  till  it  got  quite  late, 

And  the  table  he  fell  under; 
Ills  fiddle  was  broke  by  the  fall  and  weight, 

And  the  eatsiut  torn  asunder. 
Savs  he,  -No  one  shall  ever  know 

Thy  sounds  which  did  so  'cord  well,' 
So  he  smack'd  across  his  knee  the  bow, 

Then  went  to  sleep  and  snored  well. 

WHEN  SHOULD  LOVERS. 

When  should  lovers  breathe  their  vows? 

When  should  ladies  hear  them? 
When  the  dew  is  on  the  l>oughs, 

When  none  else  are  near  them. 
When  the  moon  shines  cold  and  pale, 

When  the  birds  are  sleeping, 
When  no  voice  is  on  the  gale, 

When  the  rose  is  weeping. 

Oh!  softest  is  the  cheek's  love  ray, 

When  seen  by  moonlight  flowers, 
Other  roses  seek  the  day. 

But  blushes  are  night  hours 
When  the  moon  find  itari  are  bright, 

When  the  dew-drops  glisten, 
Then  their  rows  should  lovers  plight 

Then  should  Jadies  listen. 

P 


226  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  SAILOR'S  RETURN. 
A  Sequel  to  Black-Eyed  Susan. 

The  moon  had  burst  the  clouds  of  heaven, 

When  Susan  sought  the  wreck-strewn  shore, 
By  grief  and  woe  her  bosom  riven, 

Her  shipwreck'd  William  to  deplore: 
While  gazing  on  the  watery  waste, 

A  floating  form  her  eye  descried, 
And  the  next  heaving  billow  placed 

Her  lover  by  the  maiden's  side. 

'•  Susan,  for  thee  the  storm  I  braved, 

While  angry  surges  round  me  roar'd% 
And  see,  by  bounteous  mercy  saved, 

Thy  sailor  to  thine  arms  restored !" 
His  well-known  voice  her  fears  beguiled,. 

His  glowing  kiss  her  sorrows  dried  ; 
And  the  next  morning's  sunbeams  smiled 

On  Susan  as  her  William's  bride ! 

THE  PLAIN  GOLD  RING 

He  was  a  chief  of  low  degree, 
A  lady  high  and  fair  was  she ! 
She  dropp  d  a  ring, — he  raised  the  gem, 
Twas  rich  as  eastern  diadem  f 
*Nay,  as  your  mistress'  trophy,  take 
The  toy,  when  next  a  lance  you  break/ 
He  to  the  tourney  rode  away, 
And  bore  ofT  glory's  wreath  that  day- 
How  did  his  ardent  bosom  beat, 
When,  hastening  to  that  lady's  feet, 
The  wreath  and  ring  he  proudly  laid; 
But,  'Keep  them,  youth,'  that  lady  saidy 
4  Nay,  gem  so  rich  I  may  not  wear, 
.  ITowe'er  return  a  gift  so  rare.' 
'Dear  youth,  a  plain  gold  ring,7  she  sigh'd, 
4  From  you  were  worth  the  world  beside? 


singer's  own  book.  22? 


WAKE!  LADY,  WAKE! 

Wake!  lady,  wake!  the  midnight  moon 
Sails  through  the  cloudless  night  of  June; 
The  stars  gaze  sweetly  on  the  stream, 
Which,  in  the  brightness  of  their  beam, 

One  sheet  of  glory  lies. 
The  glow-worm  lends  its  little  light, 
And  all  that's  beautiful  and  bright 
Is  shining  in  this  world  to-night, 

Save  thy  bright  eyes! 

Then  wake !  lady,  wake ! 

Wake!  lady,  wake!  the  nightingale 
Sings  to  the  moon  her  love-lorn  tale, 
Now  doth  the  brook  that's  hush'd  by  day, 
As  through  the  vale  she  winds  her  way, 

In  murmurs  soft  rejoice  ; 
The  leaves  the  midnight  winds  have  stirr'd, 
Are  whisp'ring  many  a  gentle  word, 
And  ail  earth's  sweetest  sounds  are  heard, 

Save  thy  sweet  voice ! 

Then  wake !  lady,  wake  ! 

WE'RE  A'  NODDIN. 

We're  a'  noddin,  nid,  nid,  noddin, 
And  we're  a'  noddin,  at  our  house  at  hame: 
When  the  dame's  awa'  it's  the  time  to  play, 
And  the  lads  love  lasses  and  the  lasses  love  lads  too 
Kate  sits  in  the  nuke,  with  her  laddie  so  tiue, 
And  the  carle  tak'  ye  a',  for  ye're  a'  noddin  too. 

And  we're  a'  noddin,  &c. 

We're  a'  noddin,  nid,  nid,  noddin, 

And  we're  a'  noddin,  at  our  house  at  hame: 

And  how  d'ye  do,  kimmer,  and  how  d'ye  thrive, 

And  how  many  bairns  ba1  ye  I     Kimmer,  I  ha'  five 

And  are  they  a'  at  hame  I  Oh!  na,  na,  na, 

Twa  others  with  Willie  far  awa. 

And  we're  a'  noddin,  &c, 


228  THE  AMERICAN 


WHEN  THE  EVENING  STAR  IS  PEEPING. 

When  the  evening  slar  is  peeping 

Over  every  vale  and  dell, 
Then  we  Fairies  watch  are  keeping 

In  the  dew-clad  flovv'ret's  beil. 
When  the  merry  chimes  are  ringing, 

When  the  moon  shines  o'er  the  lake, 
Then  our  voices'  tuneful  singing, 

Steals  like  magic  through  the  brake. 

When  the  eveniug  star,  &c. 

When  the  dew  drops  from  the  flower, 

When  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west, 
When  at  silent  midnight  hour 

All  the  busy  world's  at  rest: 
Then  we  roam  at  large,  with  pleasure, 

Frisking  in  the  moonbeam's  gleam, 
To  the  lute's  soft  dulcet  measure, 

Near  the  rippling  silver  stream. 

When  the  evening  star,  &c 


CAPTAIN  BELL. 

When  you  took  lodgings  in  my  neat  first  floor, 
And  your  regiment  first  marched  into  town ; 
Before  I  had  seen  your  sweet  face  half  an  hour 
I  lent  you,  my  jewel,  half  a  crown, 
Captain  Bell!  Captain  Bell! 
'Tis  yourself  that  knows  well  how  to  borrow 

And  you  put  off  the  people  so  well, 
With  ycur  '  Call  and  I'll  pay  you  to-morrow/ 
Captain  Bell!  Captain  Bell! 

And  wrheii  you  treated  us  all  to  the  play 

Did  I  not  lend  you  the  cash  ? 
And  when  you  ask'd  us  to  come  and  drink  lay 

My  plated  fai/-pol  cut  the  dash, 
Captain  Bell !  Captain  Bell ! 


singer's  own  rook.  229 

Tis  not  for  my  toy-pot  I  sorrow, 

Though  I  know  it  is  sale  mighty  well, 
I  beg  you'll  return  it  to-morrow, 

Captain  Bell!  Captain  Bell! 

But  if  a  rich  widow  would  lie  in  your  way, 

'Tis  myself,  Widow  Brady,  \s  your  man; 
You  shall  live  at  free  quarters,  with  nothing  to  pay 
Come,  fellow  me  that  if  vou  can, 
Captain  Bell!  Captain  Bell! 
'Tis  better  to  marry  than  borrow, 

And  although  you  may  think  you're  a  swell, 
You  must  settle  my  bill,  sir,  to-morrow 
Captain  Bell !  taptain  Bell ! 


BRING  FLOWERS. 

By  Mrs  Hcnwns. 

Bring  flowers,  young  flowers,  to  the  festal  board, 

To  wreathe  the  cup  ere  the  wine  is  pour'd. 

Bring  flowers!  they  are  springing  in  wood  and  vale 

Their  breath  floats  out  on  the  southern  gale, 

And  the  touch  of  the  sunbeam  hath  waked  the  rose 

To  deck  the  hall  where  the  bright  wine  flows. 

Bring  flowers,  to  strew  in  the  conqueror's  path — 
He  hath  shaken  thrones  with  his  stormy  wrath! 
He  comes  with  the  spoils  of  nations  back; 
The  vines  lie  crush'd  in  his  chariot's  track; 
The  turf  looks  red  whore  he  won  the  day; — 
Bring  flowers  to  die  in  the  conqueror's  way. 

Bring  flowers  to  the  captive's  lonely  cell. 
They  have  tales  of  the  joyous  woods  to  tell, 
Of  the  free  blue  streams,  and  the  glowing  sky, 
And  the  bright  world  shut  from  his  languid  eye, 
They  will  bear  him  a  thought  of  the  sunny  hours, 
\.nd  a  dream  of  his  youth — bring  him  flowers,  wild 
flowers. 


230  THE  AMERICAN 

Bring  flowers,  fresh  flowers,  for  the  bride  to  wear! 
They  were  born  to  blush  in  her  shining  hair: 
She  is  leaving  the  home  of  her  childish  mirth; 
She  hath  bid  farewell  to  her  father's  hearth ; 
Her  place  is  now  by  another's  side — 
Bring  flowers,  for  the  locks  of  the  fair  young  bride. 

Bring  flowers,  pale  flowers,  o'er  the  bier  to  shed, 
A  crown  for  the  brow  of  the  early  dead  J 
For  this,  through  its  leaves  hath  the  white  rose  burst, 
For  this,  in  the  woods  was  the  violet,  nursed. 
Though  they  smile  in  vain  lor  what  once  was  ours, 
They  are   love's  last  gift — bring  ye  flowers,  pale 
flowers.  • 

Bring  flowers  to  the  shrine  where  we  kneel  in  prayer; 
They  are  nature's  offering,  their  place  is  there  • 
They  speak  of  hope  to  the  fainting  heart  ; 
With  a  voice  of  promise  they  come  and  part. 
They  sleep  in  dust  through  the  wintry  hours; 
They  break   forth   in    glory — bring  flowers,  bring 
flowers ! 

THE  ROSE  WILL  CEASE  TO  BLOW. 

The  rose  will  cease  to  blow, 

The  eagle  turn  a  dove ; 
The  stream  will  cease  to  flow, 

Ere  I  will  cease  to  love, 

Ere  I  will  cease  to  love, 

Ere  I  will  cease  to  love. 
The  stream  will  cease  to  flow, 

Ere  I  will  cease  to  love. 

The  sun  will  cease  to  shine, 

The  world  will  cease  to  move, 
The  slars  their  light  resign, 

Ere  I  will  cease  to  love. 

Ere  I  will  cense  to  love, 

Ere  I  will  cense  lo  love. 
The  stars  their  light  resign, 

Ere  I  will  cease  to  love. 


singer's  own  book.  231 

OH  NO,  I  NEVER  MENTIONED  IT. 

Air, — Oh  no,  TU  never  mention  him. 

Oh  no,  I  never  mention'd  it, 

I  never  said  a  word  ,* 
But  lent  my  friend  my  five  pound  note, 

Of  which — I  never  heard! 
He  said  he  borrowed  it 

To  pay  another  debt — 
And  since  I've  never  mentioned  it, 

He  thinks  tlrat  I  forget ! 

Whene'er  we  ride,  /pays  the  'pike; 

1  settles  every  treat ; 
He  rides  my  cob — he  drives  my  cob — 

But  cuts  me  when  we  meet ! 
My  new  umbrelF  I  lent  him  too, 

One  night  'twas  very  wet; 
Though  he  forgets  it  ne'er  came  back, 

Ah  me — /don't  forget! 

To  Sally  Sims,  my  own  true  love, 

Few  visits  can  1  pay: 
But  think  how  kind  my  friend  behaves,     . 

He  calls  on  her  each  day! 
By  him  I've  sent  rich  pearls  and  rings, 

With  fruit  and  flowers  a  lot : 
The  fruit  and  flavors  came  safe  to  hand, 

The  rest — my  friend  forgot! 

Sometimes  I  treats  Miss  to  the  play, 

And,  what  1  can't  abide, 
Is  when  /just  sits  down  by  her 

My  friend's  at  t'  other  sine! 
Such  whisp'ring  and  such  quizzing  too. 

They  keep,  to  make  roe  fret ; — 
I  know  'tis  only  'make  believe,1 

But  still  I  can't  fargeL 


232  THE  AMERICAN 


'A  friend  in  need's  a  friend  indeed,' 

This  /have  found  quite  true : 
For  mine  is  such  a  needy  friend , 

He  sticks  to  me  like  glue ! 
We're  like,  they  say — for  oft  have  I 

Been  taken  for — his  debts : 
He  makes  so  free  with  me  and  mine. 

Himself  he  quite — forgets ! 

THE  DENOUNCED. 

Air, —  Where  shall  the  lover  resL 

We  never  breathe  his  name, 

Like  the  departed  ; 
His  memory's  dead  to  fame, 

Traitor !  false  hearted ! 
He  is  to  us,  a  thing 

Painful  to  number, 
O'er  him  oblivion's  wing 

Broods  in  dark  slumber. 

We  never  breathe  his  name, 

Like  the  departed ; 
His  memory's  dead  to  fame ; 

Traitor !  false  hearted  ! 
He  should  have  been  a  light 

Shining  to  bless  us, 
But  proved  the  storm  and  blight 

Sent  to  distress  us. 

NO  MORE  BY  SORROW. 

No  more  by  sorrow  chased,  my  heart 

Shall  yield  to  fell  despair; 
Now  joy  repels  the  envenom'd  dart, 

And  conquers  every  care. 
So  in  our  woods  the  hunted  boar 

On  nature's  strength  relies: 
The  forests  echo  with  his  roar, 

In  turn  the  hunter  dies. 


singer's  own  book.  233 


O  LASSIE,  ART  THOU  SLEEPING  YET. 

Air, — Let  me  in  this  ae  night. 

O  lassie,  art  thou  Bleeping  yet, 

Or  art  thou  wikin,  I  would  wit? 
For  love  has  bound  me  hand  and  foot, 
And  I  would  fain  he  in,  jo. 

O  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 

This  ae,  ae.  ae  night ; 
For  pity's  sake  this  ae  night, 

0  rise  and  let  me  in,  jo. 

Thou  hear'st  the  winter  wind  and  weet, 
Nae  star  blinks  through  the  driving  sleet; 
Tak'  pity  on  my  weary  feet, 
And  shield  me  frae  the  rain,  jo. 
O  let  me  in,  &c. 

The  bitter  blast  that  round  me  blaws 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's; 
The  eauluness  of  thy  heart's  the  cause 
Of  a'  my  2rief  and  pain,  jo. 

0  let  me  in,  &c. 

HER  ANSWER. 

O  tell  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain, 
Upbraid  na  me  with  ran  Id  disdain, 
Gae  back  the  gate  ye  cam'  again, 
I  winna  let  you  in,  jo. 

J  tell  you  now  this  ae  night, 

This  ae,  ae,  ae  night  ; 
And  ance  for  a'  this  ae  night, 

1  winna  let  ye  in,  jo. 

The  sncllest  blast,  at  mirkest  hours, 
That  round  the  pathless  wand'rer  pour* 
Ts  nocht  to  what  poor  she  endures, 
That's  trusted  faithless  man,  jo. 

1  tell  you  now,  &c. 


234  THE  AMERICAN 


The  sweetest  flower  that  deck'd  the  mead, 
Now  trodden  like  the  vilest  weed 
Let  simple  maid  the  lesson  read, 
The  weird  may  be  her  ain,  jo. 
I  tell  you  now,  &c. 

The  bird  that  charm'd  his  summer-day, 
Is  now  the  cruel  fowler's  prey ; 
Let  witless,  trusting  woman  say 
How  aft  her  fate's  the  same,  jo. 
I  teli  you  now,  &c. 


THE  LAND  OF  LOVE  AND  LIBERTY, 

Air, — Rule  Britannia. 

Hail,  great  republic  of  the  world ! 

The  rising  empire  of  the  west; 

When  famed  Columbus'  mighty  mind  impress'd 

Cave  Europe's  sons  a  place  of  rest. 

Be  thou  for  ever,  ever  blest  and  free, 

The  land  of  love  and  liberty. 

Beneath  thy  spreading  mantling  vines, 
Beside  thy  flowery  groves  and  springs, 
And  on  thy  lofty,  lofty  mountains'  brow, 
May  all  thy  sons  and  fair  ones  sing, 

Be  thou  for  ever,  &c 

From  thee  may  future  nations  learn, 
To  prize  the  cause  thy  sons  began  ; 
From  thee  may  future,  future  tyrants  know, 
That  sacred  are  the  rights  of  man. 

Be  thou  for  ever,  &e. 

Of  thee  may  sleeping  infancy 
The  pleasing  wondrous  story  tell; 
And  patriot  sage,  in  venerable  mood, 
Instruct  the  world  to  govern  well. 

Be  thou  for  ever,  &6. 


singer's  own  book.  235 

May  guardian  angels  watch  around. 
From  harm  protect  these  new-horn  states, 
And  all  ye  friendly,  friendly  nations  join, 
And  thus  salute  trie  child  of  late. 

Be  thou  lor  ever,  &c. 


TOO  MANY  LOVERS. 

Young  Susan  had  lovers  so  many  that  she 

Hardly  knew  upon  which  to  decide; 
They  all  ■poke  sincerely  and  promised  to  be 

So  worthy  of  such  a  sweet  bride. 
In  the  morning  she'd  gossip  with  William,  and  then 

The  noon  would  be  spent  with  young  Harry, 
The  evening  with  John,  so  amongst  all  the  men 

She  never  could  tell  which  to  marry. 
Heigho!  heigho!  I'm  afraid, 
Too  man}-  lovers  will  puzzle  a  maid. 

Now  William  grew  jealous  and  so  went  away, 

And  Harry  got  tired  of  wooing; 
And  John  having  teased  her  to  fix  on  the  dn 

Received  onlv  frowns  for  so  doing. 
So  amongst  all  her  lovers,  quite  left  in  the  lurch, 

She  wept  every  night  on  her  pillow; 
And  meeting,  one  day.  a  pair  going  to  church, 

Turn'd  away,  and  died  under  a  wiBow. 

Heigho!  heigho!  I'm  afraid,  tire. 

THE  LILY  OF  NITIISDALE. 

She's  gane  to  dwall  in  heaven,  my  lassie, 

She's  gane  to  dwall  in  heaven, 
•  Ye're  owre  pure,'  quo'  a  voice  aboon, 

1  For  d walling  out  o'  heaven.' 

O  what'll  she  do  in  heaven,  mv  lassie  ? 

O  what'll  she  do  in  heaven  1 
She'll  mix  her  own  thoughts  wi'  angels'  sangs, 

An'  make  them  mair  meet  for  heaven. 


236  THE  AMERICAN 

She  was  beloved  of  a',  my  lassie ; 

She  was  beloved  of  a' ; 
But  an  angel  feil  in  love  wi'  her, 

And  took  her  frae  us  a'. 

Low  there  she  lies,  my  lassie, 

Low  there  she  lies. 
A  bonnier  form  ne'er  went  to  the  yird, 

Nor  frae  it  will  arise. 

There's  nought  but  dust  now  mine,  my  lassie, 
There's  nought  but  dust  now  mine ; 

My  soul's  wi'  thee  i'  the  cauld,  cauld  grave 
An'  why  should  I  scay  behin'  ? 

I  look'd  on  thy  death  shut  eye,  my  lassie, 

I  look'd  on  thy  death-shut  eye  ; 
An'  a  lovelier  sight  in  the  brow  o'  heaven 

Fell  time  shall  ne'er  destroy. 

Thy  lips  were  ruddie  and  calm,  my  lassie, 
Thy  lips  were  ruddie  and  calm ; 

But  gane  was  the  holy  breath  o'  heaven 
To  sing  the  evening  psalm. 


O  LISTEN  TO  THE  VOICE  OF  LOVE. 

O  listen,  listen  to  the  voice  of  Love, 

He  calls  my  Daphne  to  the  grove. 
The  primrose  sweet  bedecks  the  field, 

The  tuneful  birds  invite  to  rove, 
To  softer  jovs  let  splendour  yield  : 

O  listen,  listen  to  the  voice  of  Love. 

Where  flowers  their  blooming  sweets  exhale, 

My  Daphne,  let  us  fondly  stray, 
Where  whisp'ring  Love  brea'.hes  forlh  his  tale, 
And  shepherds  sing  their  artless  lay: 
O  listen,  listen  to  the  voice  of  Love, 
He  calls  my  Daphne  to  the  grove. 


singer's  own  book.  237 

Come  share  with  me  the  sweets  of  spring, 
And  Leave  the  town's  tumultuous  noise; 
The  happy  swains  all  cheerful  sing, 
And  echo  still  repeats  their  joys. 

Then  listen,  listen  to  the  voice  of  Love, 
He  calls  my  Daphne  to  the  grove. 


THE  BONNY  SLEIGH. 

Air, —  T/.c  bonny  boat. 

O  swiftly  glides  the  bonny  sleigh, 

Just  parted  from  the  door, 
With  jingling  bells  and  horses'  neigh, 

The  snow  dash'd  up  before. 
This  pleasure  now,  and  happy  cheer 

Are  much  enjoy 'd  indeed  ; 
With  blooming  belles  *o  us  so  dear, 

To  Laurel  Hill  we'll  speed. 
We  east  onr  lines  upon  the  rails, 

Where  snow  had  drifted  wide  ; 
Our  bonny  sleigh,  coats,  hats  and  veils, 

Were  all  then  laid  aside: 
Then  happy  proved  the  merry  dance 

Upon  the  mansion  floor; 
While  wine  and  cider  mull'd  and  warm, 

Came  in  at  every  door. 

The  skaters  on  the  ice  may  sing, 

Whilst  all  around  they  oliarm; 
But  we  prefer  the  sleigh  bell's  ring, 

When  all  wrapp'd  up  so  warm: 
It  safely  bears  its  lovely  store 

Through  many  a  Btormy  gale: 
Whilst  joyful  shouts  from  half  a  score. 

Our  merry  party  hail. 
We  cast  our  lines  upon  the  rails, 

Where  snow  had  drifted  wide; 
Our  bonny  sleigh,  <  oats,  hats  and  veils, 

Were  all  then  laid  aside : 


238  THE  AMERICAN 


Then  happy  prov'd  the  jolly  folks, 

With  ne'er  a  sigh  nor  care : 
We'll  now  return  and  crack  some  jokes. 

Where  all  our  treasures  are. 

New  near  the  city  we  are  come, 

The  lamps  I  plainly  see: 
From  the  good  dame  we  left  at  home, 

Our  welcome  warm  will  be  : 
The  w7ell  known  shout,  and  sleigh  bells'  ri 

Seem  echoing  in  her  ears ; 
Now  come,  my  boys,  let's  loudly  sing, 

She'll  soon  forget  her  fears. 
We'll  cast  our  lines  upon  the  post, 

That  stands  before  the  door, 
And  then  we'll  all  our  fingers  toast, 

And  sleigh  a  little  more. 
Then  happy  prove  each  pleasant  jaunt 

Upon  the  wintry  plain  ; 
I'm  sure  we  shall  not  sleighing  want, 

If  snow  don't  turn  to  rain. 


THE  AMERICANS  STAR. 

Come,  strike  the  bold  anthem,  the  war  dogs  are 
howling, 
Already  they  eagerly  snuff  up  their  prey, 
The  red  clouds  of  wsr  o'er  our  forests  are  scowling, 
Soft  peace  spreads  her  wings  and  flies  weeping 
away ; 
The  infants,  affrighted,  cling  close  to  their  mothers, 
The  yoinh  grasp  their  swords,  for  the  combat  pre- 
pare, 
While  beauty  weeps  fathers,  and  lovers  and  brothers, 
Who  rush  to  display  the  American  Star 

Come  blow  the  shrill  bugle,  the  loud  drum  awaken, 
The  dread  rifle  seize,  let  the  cannon  deep  roar: 

No  heart  with  pale  fear,  or  faint  doubtings  be  shaken, 
No  slave's  hostile  foot  leave  a  print  on  our  shore: 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  239 

Shall    mothers,   wives,   daughters    and   sisters   left 
wee  pin; 

Insulted  by  ruffians,  be  dragged  to  despair! 
Oh  no!  from  her  hills  the  proud  eagle  comes  sweeping, 

And  waves  to  the  brave  the  American  Star. 

The  spirits  of  Washington,  Warren,  Montgomery, 

Look  down  from  the  elouds,  with  bright  aspect 
serene  ; 
Come,  soldiers,  a  tear  and  a  toast  to  their  memory, 

Rejoicing  they'll  see  us  as  they  once  have  been, 
To  us  the  high  boon  by  the  gods  lias  been  granted, 

To  speed  the  glad  tidings  of  liberty  far; 
Let  millions  invade  us,  we'll  meet  them  undaunted, 

And  vanquish  them  by  the  American  Star. 

Your  hands,  then,  dear  comrades,  round   liberty's 
altar, 

United  we  swear  by  the  souls  of  the  brave ! 
Not  one  from  the  strong  resolution  shall  falter, 

To  live  independent,  or  sink  to  the  grave ! 
Then,  freemen,  fill   up — Lo!   the  striped  banners 


flvin 


g. 


The  high  bird  of  liberty  screams  through  the  air; 
Beneath  her  oppression  and  tyranny  dying — 
Success  to  the  beaming  American  Star. 


.- 


BEGONE,  DULL  CARE. 

Begone,  dull  care,  I  pray  thee  begone  from  me; 
Begone,  dull  care,  thou  and  I  shaft  never  agree; 
Long  time  thou  hast  been  tarrying  here, 

And  fiua  thou  wouldst  me  kill; 
But,  i'faith,  dull  care. 

Thou  never  shall  have  thy  will. 

Too  much  care  will  make  a  young  man  look  grey; 
And  too  much  rare  will  turn  an  old  man  to  clay, 
My  wife  shall  dance  and  I  wili  sing, 

So  merrily  pass  the  day; 
For  I  hold  it  one  of  the  wi.-est  things, 
To  drive  dull  care  away. 


240  THE  AMERICAN 


< 


HARK!    THE    BONNY    CHRIST    CHURCH 
BELLS.— A  Catch. 

Hark !  the  bonny  Christ  Church  hells, 
One,  two,  three,  four,  live,  six; 

They  sound  so  woundy  great, 
So  wond'rous  sweof, 

And  they  troll  so  merrily,  merrily. 

Hark!  the  first  and  second  bell, 
That  every  day  at  four  and  ten 

Cries,  come  to  prayers, 
And  the  verger  troops  before  the  dean. 

Tingle,  tingle,  tings  goes  the  small  bell  at  nine, 
To  call  the  bearers  home; 
But  the  devil  a  man 
Will  leave  his  can 
Till  he  hears  the  mighty  Tom. 

AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 

And  never  brought  to  mmd  ? 
Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  days  o'  Lang  syne  ? 

For  auld  Lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  svne, 
Well  tak'  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet, 
For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  ha'e  run  about  the  braes, 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  hue; 
But  we've  wander'd  mony  a  weary  foot, 

Sin'  old  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear,  &c. 

We  twa  ha'e  paidlct  i'  the  burn, 

Frae  morning  sun  till  dine ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  ha'e  roar'd 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear,  &c. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  241 

And  there's  a  hand,  my  truslie  feire, 

And  gi'es  a  hand  o'  thine: 
And  we'll  tak'  a  right  gude-willie-waught, 

For  anld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear,  &c. 

And  surely  you'll  he  your  pint-stoup, 

And  surely  I'll  be  mine ; 
And  we'll  tak'  a  drop  o'  kindness  yet, 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear,  &c. 


TYROLESE  SONG  OF  LIBERTY. 

Merrily  every  bosom  boundeth, 

Merrily  oh!  merrily  oh! 
Where  the  song  of  freedom  soundeth, 

Merrily  oh!  merrily  oh! 
Where  the  song  of  freedom  soundeth, 

Merrily  oh !  merrily  oh  ! 
There  the  warrior's  arms 
Shed  more  splendour: 
There  the  maiden's  charms 
Shine  more  tender: 
Every  joy  the  land  surroundoth, 

Merrily  oh !  merrily  oh ! 
Merrily,  merrily,  merrily,  merrily,  merrily, merrily  oil 

Merrily  oh!  merrily  oh! 

Wearily  every  bosom  pincth, 

Wearily  oh!  wearily  oh! 
Where  the  bond  of  slavery  twineth, 

Wearily  oh!  wearily  oh. 
There  the  warrior's  dart 

Hath  no  fleotness ; 
There  the  maiden's  heart 
Hath  no  sweetness  j 
Ever}-  flower  of  life  declineth, 

Wearily  oh !  wearily  oh 

Wearily,  wearily,  &c 

Q 


242  THE  AMERICAN 


Cheerily  then  from  hill  and  valley, 

Cheerily  oh!  cheerily  oh! 
Like  your  native  fountains  sally, 

Cheerily  oh!  cheerily  oh! 
Ji  a  glorious  death, 
Won  by  bravery, 
Sweeter  he  than  breath 
Sighed  in  slavery ; 
Round  the  flag  of  freedom  rally,. 

Cheerily  oh!  cheerily  oh! 

Cheerily,  cheerily  &e 

YOUR  LOT  IS  FAR  ABOVE  ME. 

Your  lot  is  far  above  me, 

I  dare  not  be  your  bride  ; 
To  know  that  you  have  loved  rae, 

Will  wound  your  father's  pride> 
Go,  woo  some  high-born  lady, 

And  he  will  bless  your  choice  ; 
Alas  !  too  long  already, 

I've  listen' d  to  your  voice. 


Oh !  may  your  grief  lie  fleeting, 

Go  seek  the  halls  of  mirth; 
Dread  not  a  future  meeting, 

We  ne'er  shall  meet  on  earth. 
Though  o'er  love's  passing  vision, 

These  tears  of  anguish  Mow ; 
Doubt  not  the  stern  decision 

Of  her  who  bids  you  go. 

These  tears  are  not  intended 

As  lures  to  make  you  stay, 
I  wish  they  were  not  blended 

With  all  you  hear  me  say. 
Go !  would  .you  ne'er  had  sought  me, 

'Tis  hard  so  young  to  die; 
But,  'twas  your  kindness  taught  me. 

To  raise  my  hopes  so  high. 


SINGER  S    OWN    BOOK.  243 


THE  FARMERS  DAUGHTER. 

Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
I'm  going  a  milking,  sir,  she  said  ; 
May  I  go  with  you,  my  pretty  maid  ? 


,  kii 


It's  just  as  you  please,  kind  sir,  she  said. 

What  is  your  father,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
My  father's  a  farmer,  sir,  she  said ; 
Then  1  will  marry  you,  my  pretty  maid ; 
It's  not  as  you  please,  kind  sir,  she  said. 

What  is  your  fortune,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
My  face  is  my  fortune,  sir,  she  said  ; 
Then  I  can't  marry  you,  my  pretty  maid 
Nobody  ask  d  you,  sir,  she  said. 


WELCOME  MOTHER ! 

Welcome,  Mother !  now  I  greet  thee, 

Can  I  all  my  feelings  tell  I 
How  this  heart  has  long'd  to  meet  thee, 

Since  my  lips  breath'd  out  "  farewell !' 
Welcome,  Mother!  while  I  press  thee 

Fondly  to  my  youthful  heart, 
Ev'ry  word  I  speak  will  bless  thee, 

While  I  know  how  dear  thou  art. 

Welcome,  Mother !  I  have  often 

Traced  thine  image  in  my  dreams  ; 
Memory's  touch  the  spell  would  soften, 

Dressing  life  in  golden  beams. 
Lone,  forsaken — 'midst  the  smiling, 

Lousing  for  some  absent  one, 
I  have  stood — one  thought  beguiling, 

'Twas  the  thought  of  thee,  alone. 

Welcome,  Mother',  life's  before  me, 
Days  of  sunshine  and  of  tears, 


244 


THE   AMERICAN 


Yet,  with  thy  fond  guidance  o'er  me 
Joy  may  smile  in  afler  years. 

I  have  cherish'd — dearly  cherish'd, 
All  the  lessons  given  me; 

Every  prayer  my  bosom  nourish'd, 
Has  been  fraught  with  love  to  thee. 

'TWAS  YOU,  SIR.— A  Glee. 

'Twas  you,  sir,  'twas  you,  sir, 

I  tell  you  nothing  new,  sir, 
'Twas  you  that  kiss'd  the  pretty  girl, 

'Twas  you,  sir,  you  ; 

'Tis  true,  sir,  'tis  true,  sir, 

You  look  so  very  blue,  sir, 
I'm  sure  you  kiss'd  the  pretty  girl, 

'Tis  true,  sir,  true ; 

Oh,  sir,  no,  sir, 

How  can  you  wrong  me  so,  sir  ? 
I  did  not  kiss  the  pretty  girl — 

But  I  know  who. 


WEBER'S  LAST  THOUGHTS. 

I'm   oending  o'er  a  stranger's  hearth,  alone  in  my 

decay, 
My  childhood's  home,  my  father  land,  is  distant  far 

away. 
I  strive  to  chase  the  gloomy  grief,  which  darkens  oft 

my  mind, 
When  I  recall  the  cloudless  hopes  which  I  have  left 

beh  nd 
Oh!  painfu  !y  and  wearily,  unbidden  tears  will  start, 
Sad  thougl  's  like  these  throw  discord  o'er  the  music 

of  n  y  heart. 
Some  light  find  lively  melody  now  rushes  to  my  brain, 
My  solitudo  enlivening,  once  cheering  me  again. 
But  ah!  my  Uoiae,  my  absent  friends!  this  damps  my 

moment's  mirth, 
My   pulse   grows   weak,   my  half  form'd   smite   is 

wirher'd  in  its  birth. 


singer's  OWN  ROOK.  245 

I  cannot  throw  from  off  my  soul  its  preying  load  oi' 

griefi 
Some  plaintive  strain  may  ease  its  weight,  and  gram 

a  short  relief; 
But  transient  is  my  spirit's  calm,  as  slumber  on  the 

lake, 
Whose  rest  a  single  falling  leaf  will  agitate  and 

wake. 
Though  Btrangers  have  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  hnve 

press'd  iheir  hand, 
I  pray  to  live,  that  I  may  die  in  my  own  native  land. 
Farewell  to  all  whom  I  have  left,  I  quit  you  with  a 

Bieb, 
Farewell,  my  stream  of  life  ebbs  fast,  its  source  is 

nearly  dry. 
I'm  bending  o'er  a  stranger's  hearth,  alone  in  my 

decay, 
My  childhood's  home,  my  father  land,  is  distant  far 

away. 

KATHLEEN  O'MOORE. 

My  lrr\  e.  still  I  think  that  I  see  her  once  more, 
But  alas !  she  has  left  me  her  loss  to  deplore, 
My  own  little  Kathleen,  my  poor  lost  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'Moore. 

Her  hair  glossy  black,  her  eyes  were  dark  blue, 
Her  colour  still  changing,  her  smiles  ever  new; 
So  pretty  was  Kathleen,  my  sweet  little  Kathleen 

My  Kathleen  O'Moore. 

She  milked  the  dun  cow7  that  ne'er  offered  to  stir, 
Though  wicked  it  was,  it  was  gentle  to  her; 
So  kind  was  my  Kathleen,  my  pool  little  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'Moore. 

She  sat  by  the  door  one  cold  afternoon, 
To  hear  the  wind  blow,  and  Look  at  the  moon; 
So  pensive  was  Kathleen,  my  poor  little  Kathleen 

My  Kathleen  O'Moore. 


246  THE  AMERICAN 

O  cold  was  the  night  breeze  that  sigh'd  round  her 

bower, 
It  chill'd  my  poor  Kathleen,  she  drooped  from  that 

hour, 
And  I  lost  my  poor  Kathleen,  mv  dear  little  Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'Moore. 

The  bird  of  all  birds  that  I  love  the  best, 
Is  the  robin  that  in  the  church-yard  builds  its  nest, 
For  he  seems  to  watch  Kathleen,  hops  lightly  on 
Kathleen, 

My  Kathleen  O'Moore. 

THE  BRAES  OF  BALQUHITHER, 

Let  us  go,  lassie,  go 

To  the  braes  of  Balquh'ther, 
Where  the  blae-berries  grow 

'Mong  bonnie  Highland  heather; 
Where  the  deer  and  the  rae, 

Lightly  bounding  together, 
S]x>rt  the  lang  summer  day 

On  the  braes  of  Balquhither. 

I  will  twine  thee  a  bower, 

By  the  clear  siller  fountain, 
And  I'll  cover  it  o'er 

Wi'  the  flowers  o'  the  mountain ; 
I  will  range  through  the  wilds, 

And  the  deep  glens  sae  dreary, 
And  return  wi'  their  spoils 

To  the  bower  o'  my  dearie. 

When  the  rude  wintry  win' 

Idly  raves  round  our  dwelling, 
And  the  roar  of  the  linn 

On  the  night  breeze  is  swelling, 
So  merrily  we'll  sing 

As  the  storm  rattles  o'er  us, 
Till  the  dear  shealing  ring 

Wi'  the  light  lilting  chorus. 


singer's  own  BOOK.  247 

w  the  summer  is  in  prime 

"\\Y  the  flowers  richly  blooming, 
And  ihe  wild  mountain  thyme, 

A'  the  moorland  perfuming.' 
To  onr  clear  native  scenes 

Let  us  journey  together. 
Where  glad  innocence  reigns 

'Mang  the  braes  of  Balquhithei. 

ORIXK  TO  IME  ONLY  WITH  THINE  EYES 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 

And  I'll  not  look  for  wine. 

The  thirst  that  from  my  soul  doth  rise 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine; 
But  mighi  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sip, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Nat  so  much  honouring  thee, 
As  giving  it  a  hope,  that  there 

It  wouid  not  withered  be. 

But  thou  thereon  didst  only  bieathe, 

And  sent  it  back  to  me  : 
Since  then,  it  grows,  and  looks,  and  smells, 

JVot  of  itself,  but  thee. 

BILLY,  LET'S  TIIAXK  PROVIDENCE  THAT 
YOU  A:\D  I  ARE  SAILORS. 

One  night  came  on  a  hurricane,  the  sea  was  moun- 
tains rolling. 

When  Barney  Buntline  turn'd  his  quid,  and  said  I 
Billy  Bowling, 

A  strong  sow-w<  ster's  blowing,  Bill}*,  can't  you  hear 
it  roar  now  ? 

Lord  help  'em,  how  I  pities  all  unhappy  folks     i 
shore  now . 


248  THE  AMERICAN 

Fool-hardy  chaps  as  live  in  towns,  what  dangers 

they  are  all  in ! 
And  now  they're  quaking  in  their  beds  for  fear  the 

roof  should  fall  in. 
Poor  creatures,  how  they  envies  us,  and  wishes,  I've 

a  notion, 
For  our  good  luck,  in  such  a  storm,  to  be  upon  the 

ocean. 

Then  as  to  them  kept  out  all  day  on  business  from 

their  houses, 
And,  late  at  night,  are  walking  home  to  cheer  their 

babes  and  spouses, 
While  you  and  I  upon  the  deck  are  comfortably  lying, 
My  eyes,  what  tiles  and  chimney-pots  about  their 

heads  are  flying ! 

And  often  have  we  seamen  heard  how  men  are  killed 

or  undone 
By  overturns  in  carriages,  and  thieves,  and  fires,  in 

London ; 
We've  heard  what  risks  all  landsmen  run,  from  no 

blemen  to  tailors, 
60,  Billy,  let's  thank  Providence  that  you  and  I  are 

sailors. 

THE  LASS  O'  COWRIE. 

'Twas  on  a  simmer's  afternoon, 
A  wee  before  the  sun  gaed  down, 
My  lassie  wi'  a  braw  new  gown 

Carne  o'er  the  hill  to  Gowrie. 
The  rose-bud  tingM  wi'  morning  showTers 
Bloom'd  fresh  within  the  sunny  bowers, 
But  Kitty  was  the  fairest  flower 

That  ever  bloom'd  in- Gowrie. 

I  had  nae  thought  to  do  her  wrang, 
But  round  her  waist  my  arms  I  flang, 
And  said,  4My  lassie,  will  ye  gang 
To  view  the  Carse  o'  Gowrie  ? 


singer's  own  book.  219 

I'll  lake  ye  to  my  father's  ha', 

In  yon  green  field  beside  the  shaw, 

And  make  you  lady  o'  them  a', 
The  brawest  wile  in  Cowrie. 

Saft  kisses  on  her  lips  I  laid, 

The  blush  upon  her  cheek  soon  spread, 

She  whisper'd  modestly,  and  said, 

'I'll  gang  wi'  you  to  Gowrie.' 
The  an  Id  iolk  soon  gied  their  consent, 
And  to  Mess  John  we  quickly  went, 
Whs  tied  us  to  our  hearts'  content, 

And  now  she's  Lady  Gowiie. 

DINNA  FORGET. 

Dinna  forget,  laddie!  dinna  forget! 
Ne'er  make  me  rue  that  we  ever  have  met! 
Wide  though  we  sever,  parted  for  ever, 
Willie,  when  far  aw  a  dinna  forget! 

We  part,  and  it  may  be,  we  meet  never  mair; 
Vet  my  heart,  as  in  hope,  will  be  true  in  despair; 
And  the  sigh  of  remembrance,  the  tear  of  regret, 
For  thee  will  be  frequent,  then  dinna  forget! 

When  the  star  o'  the  gloamin'  is  beaming  above, 
Think  how  oft  it  hath  lighted  the  tryst  of  our  love. 
Oh !  deem  it  an  angel's  ee  heaven  hath  set, 
To  watch  thee,  to  warn  thee,  sae  dinna  forget ! 

THE  FLOWING  BOWL. 

Bring  me,  boy,  a  flowing  bowl, 
Deep  and  spacious  as  the  sea  ; 
Then  shall  every  noble  soul, 
Drink  and  fathom  it  with  me. 

While  we  revel  in  delight, 

E'er  to  part  would  be  a  sin, 

And  since  care  is  put  to  flight, 

Drink  and  fill  the  bowl  again. 


ZoO  THE  AMERICAN 



Let  the  hoary  miser  toil, 
We  such  sordid  views  despise  ; 
Give  us  wine  and  beauty's  smile — 
There  each  glowing  rapture  lies. 

While  we  revel,  &c 

Care !  thou  bane  of  every  joy, 
To  some  distant  region  fly ; 
Here  reigns  Bacchus,  jolly  boy; — 
Hence!  old  greybeard — hence!  and  die 

While  good  humour  is  afloat, 

Here  to  part  would  be  a  sin  ; 

Let  us  sail  in  pleasure's  boat — 

Drink  and  fill  the  bowl  again. 


DAME  DURDEN.— A  Glee, 

Dame  Durden  kept  five  serving  girisf 

To  carry  the  milking-pail; 
She  also  kept  five  labouring  men, 
To  wield  the  spade  and  flail: 
'Twas  Moll  and  Bet, 
And  Doll  and  Kate, 
And  Dorothy  Draggle  tail; 
And  John  and  Dick, 
And  Joe  and  Jack, 
And  Humphry  with  his  flail; 
'Twas  John  kissed  Molly, 
And  Dick  kissed  Betty, 
And  Joe  kissed  Dolly, 
And  Jack  kissed  Kitty, 
And  Humphrey  with  his  flail ; 
And  Kitty  she  was  a  charming  girl  to  carry  liip,  milk- 
ing-pail. 

Dame  Durden  in  the  mom  so  soon 

She  did  begin  to  call, 
To  roase  her  servant  maids  and  men 

She  then  began  to  bawl. 

Twas  Moll  and  Bet,  &c. 


singer's  own  book.  2T)1 

'Twas  on  the  morn  of  Valentine, 

The  birds  began  to  prate. 
Dame  Durden's  servant-maids  and  men 

They  all  began  to  mate. 

'Tv  as  Moll  and  Bet,  &c. 


WHERE'S  THE  SNOW. 

Written  by  Miss  L.  E.  Landon,  and  Sung  by  Madame 

Malibran. 

Where's  the  snow,  the  summer  snow 

On  the  lovely  lily  flower? 
Where  the  hues  the  sun-set  shed 

O'er  the  rose's  crimson  hour? 
Where's  the  gold,  the  pure  bright  gold, 

O'er  the  young  laburnum  flung? 
And  the  fragrant  sighs  that  breath'd 

Whence  the  hyacinth  drooping  hung? 
Gone,  gone,  they  all  are  gone. 

Youth  where  is  thine  open  brow  ? 

What  has  quell'd  thine  eagle  eye? 
Where's  the  freshness  of  thy  cheek  ? 

And  thy  dark  hair's  raven  dye  ? 
Where's  the  crimson  banner  now? 

Where's  thine  eager  step  and  sword  ? 
Where's  thine  hour  of  dreamless  sleep? 

Where  frank  jest  and  careless  word? 
Gone,  gone,  they  all  are  gone. 

Where's  the  lighted  hall,  and  where 

A  4  that  made  its  midnight  gay  ? 
Where's  the  music  of  Ihe  harp? 

And  the  minstrel's  knightly  lay? 
Where's  the  graceful  saraband  ? 

Where's  the  lamp  of  starry  light? 
Where  the  vases  of  bright  flowers? 

Where  the  blushes  vet  more  bright? 
Gone,  gone,  they  all  are  gone. 


252  THE  AMERICAN 


WERT   THOU    LIKE    ME— ANNOT    LYLE'S 

SONG. 

Words  by  Sir  W.  Scott. — Music  by  Miss  JE.JFloicer. 

Wert  thou  like  me,  in  life's  low  vale, 

With  thee  how  blest  that  lot  I'd  share, 
With  thee  I'd  fly  wherever  gale 

Could  waft,  or  bounding  billows  bear. 
But,  parted  by  severe  decree, 

Far  different  must  our  fortunes  prove ; 
May  thine  be  joy ! — enough  for  me 

To  weep  and  pray  for  him  I  love. 

The  pangs  this  foolish  heart  must  feel, 

When  hope  shall  be  for  ever  flown, 
No  sullen  murmur  shall  reveal, 

No  selfish  murmurs  e'er  shall  own. 
Nor  will  I  through  life's  weary  years, 

Like  a  pale  drooping  mourner  move, 
While  I  can  think  my  foolish  tears 

May  wTound  the  heart  of  him  I  love. 

FAIR  ROSE  HAS  CHARMS  ALONE  FOR  ME. 

They  say  my  heart  is  not  sincere, 

And  fickle  as  the  moon,  my  mind ; 
Perhaps  to  some  I  may  appear 

Inconstant  as  the  sportive  wind  : 
But  oh!  when  Rosa  deigns  to  smile, 

No  other  eye  has  charms  for  me. 
My  wav'ring  thoughts  her  looks  beguile, 

*To  rove,  I  feel  no  longer  free ! 

No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no ; 
Fair  Rose  alone  has  charms  for  me 

I  do  not  sigh  in  shady  groves, 
I  ramble  not  by  purling  streams ; 

But  love  to  be  where  beauty  moves, 
And  where  thj3  star  of  pleasure  gleams. 
But  oh!  when  Rosa  deigns,  &c. 


singer's  own  book.  253 

AULD  ROBIN  GRAY. 

Written  by  Lady  Anne  Barnard. 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauid,  and  the  kye  at 

home, 
And  a'  the  warkl  to  sleep  are  gane; 
The  waes  of  my  heart  fa'  in  showers  frae  my  e'e, 
While  my  gudeman  lies  sound  by  me. 
Young  Jamie  lo'ed  me  weel,  and  he  sought  me  for 

hi 
But  saving  a  crown,  he  had  naething  beside. 
To  mak'  the  crown  a  pound,  my  Jamie  gaed  to  sea; 
And  the  crown  and  the  pound  were  baith  for  me. 

He  hadna'  been  gane  a  week  but  only  twa, 

When  my  father  brake  his  arm,  and  our  cow  was 

■town  awa', 
My  mither  she  fell  sick,  and  my  Jamie  at  the  sea, 
And  auld  Robin  Gray  came  a  courting  me. 
My  father  couldua'  work,  and  my  mither  doughtna' 

in  ; 
I  toii'd  day  and  night,  but  their  bread  I  eouldna'  win; 
Auld  Rob  maintain'd  them  baith,  and  wi'  tears  in 

his  e'e, 
Saidj  'Jenny,  for  their  sakes,  O  marry  me !' 

My  heart  it  said  Nay — T  look'd  for  Jamie  back ; 
But  the  wind  it  blew  high,  and  the  ship  it  was  a  wrack, 
The  ship  it  was  a  wrack;  why  didna'  Jenny  die  I 
Oh!  why  was  I  spared  to  cry,  Wae's  me! 
My  father  urged  sair — my  mither  didna'  speak, 
She  look'd  in  my  fare  till  my  heart  was  like  to  break. 
So  they  gi'ed  him  my  hand,  though  my  heart  was  at 

the  sea, 
Now  auld  Robin  Gray  is  gudeman  to  me. 

I  hadna'  been  a  wife  a  week  but  only  four, 
When  sitting  sae  mournfully  ae  night  at  the  door. 


'254  THE  AMERICAN 

—  ■  ■  ■■-■■■■■  i     ■  ■—  —  — ■   -    ■■  -  p  ^ 

I  saw  my  Jamie's  wraith — for  I  couidna'  think  it  he, 
Till  he  said,  'I'm  come  back,  love,  to  marry  thee.' 

0  sair  did  we  greet,  and  muekle  did  we  say. 

We  took  but  ae  kiss,  and  we  tore  ourselves  away, 

1  wish'd  I  were  dead — but  I'm  no  like  to  die ; 
Oh!  why  do  I  live  to  say,  Wae's  me! 

I  gang  like  a  ghaist,  and  I  carena'  to  spin, 

I  darena'  think  on  Jamie,  for  that  would  be  a  sin; 

But  I'll  do  my  best  a  gude  wife  to  be, 

For  auld  Robin  Gray  is  kind  to  me. 

'  Nae  langer  she  wept — her  tears  were  a'  spent — 

Despair  it  was  come,  and  she  thought  it  content, 

She  thought  it  content;  but  her  cheek  it  grew  pale, 

And  she  droop'd  like  a  lily  broke  down  by  the  hail. 

ON  THIS  COLD  FLINTY  ROCK. 

Music  by  Brctham. 

On  this  cold  flinty  rock  I  will  lay  down  my  head, 

And  cheerfully  sing  thro'  the  night ; 
The  moon  shall  smile  sweetly  upon  my  cold  bed, 

And  the  stars  shall  shine  forth  to  give  light. 

Then  come  to  me,  come  to  me ;  wail  not  nor  weep : 

O  turn  thy  sweet  eyes  unto  me; 
To  my  bosom  now  creep,  I  will  sing  thee  to  sleep, 

And  kiss  from  thy  lids  the  salt  tear. 

This  innocent  flower  which  these  rude  cliffs  unfold, 

Is  thou,  love,  the  joy  of  this  earth : 
But  the  rock  that  it  springs  from,  so  flinty  and  cold, 

Is  thy  father  that  gave  thee  thy  birth. 
Then  come  to  me,  &c. 

The  dews  that  now  hang  on  the  cheek  of  the  eve, 

And  the  winds  that  so  mournfully  cry, 
Are  the  sighs  and  the  tears  of  the  youth  ihou  mus\ 
leave, 
To  lie  down  in  those  deserts  to  die. 
Then  come  to  me,  &c 


GFER'8   OWN    BOOK.  2-V> 


FAREWELL  TO  MY  HARP. 

Air: — Neta  Jjangolee 

Dear  harp  of  my  country!  in  darkness  I  found  thee, 

The  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hung  o'er  thee  long, 
When  proudly  my  own  Island  Harp  1  unbound  thee, 

And  gave  all  thy  chords  to  light,  freedom  and  .song; 
The  warm  lay  of  love,  and  the  light  rote  of  gladness, 

Have  waken'd  thy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  thrill; 
But  so  oft  hast  thou  echoed  the  deep  sigh  of  sadness! 

That  even  in  thy  mirth  it  will  steal  from  thee  still. 

Dear  Harp  of  my  country  I  farewell  to  thy  numbers, 

This   sweet  wreath  ol  song  is  the  last  we  shall 
twine, 
Go, — sleep  with  the  sunshine  of  fame  on  thy  slumbers. 

Till  touch'd  by  some  hand,  less  unworthy  than  mine. 
If  the  pulse  of  the  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover, 

Have  throbb'd  at  our  lay,  'tis  thy  glory  alone ; 
I  was  but  as  the  wind  passing  heedlessly  over, 

And  all  the  wild  sweetness.  I  wak'd  was  thy  own ! 

MY  DARK  HAIR'D  GIRL. 

M/  dark  hair'd  girl,  thy  ringlets  deck 

In  silken  curl  thy  graceful  neck; 

Thy  neck  is  like  the  swan,  and  fair  as  the  pearl, 

And  light  as  air  the  step  is,  of  my  dark  hair'd  girl. 

My  dark  hair'd  girl,  upon  thy  lip 

The  dainty  boo  might  wish  to  sip; 

For  thy  lip  is  like  the  rose,  and  thy  teeth  they  are 

pearl, 
And  diamond  is  the  eye  of  my  dark  hair'd  girl. 

My  dark  hair'd  girl,  I've  promis'd  thee, 

And  thou  thy  faith  hast  given  to  me ; 

And,  oh!   l  would  not  change  for  the  crown  of  an 

earl, 
The  pride  cf  being  lov'd  by  my  dark  hair'd  girh 


Zo6  THE    AMERICAN 


TWILIGHT'S  HOUR. 

Tt  was  at  twilight's  dusky  hour, 
When  twinkling  stars  their  lustre  shed, 

The  warbling  tenants  of  each  bow'r, 
Unto  iheir  mossy  ceils  had  fled. 

The  lowing  herds  had  ceas'd  their  note, 
The  bleating  flocks  were  in  their  pen ; 

No  sounds  were  in  the  air  afloat, 
No  hum  arose  within  the  glen. 

The  orient  tints  which  streak'd  the  sky, 
Had  vanish'd  with  departing  light; 

The  azure  vault  serene  and  high, 
Bedeck'd  with  gems,  shone  softly  bright 

The  air  was  calm,  all  still  profound, 
Refreshing  zephyrs  cool'd  the  plain, 

And  echo,  with  responsive  sound, 
Sent  back  whate'er  it  heard,  again. 

Twas  just  at  this  propitious  hour, 
That  fairy  steps  flit  o'er  the  green, 

Bespangled  with  each  native  flower  ; 
No  pressure  mark'd  where  they  had  been 

'Twas  now  that  Oberon  the  sprite, 
His  revels  held  with  sportive  sway, 

Kept  up  the  dance,  till  dawn  of  light 
Intrusive,  warn'd  the  elves  away. 


THEY  TOLD  ME  NOT  TO  LOVE  HIM. 

They  told  me  not  to  love  him! 

They  said  that  he  would  prove 
Unworthy  of  so  ricli  a  gem, 

As  woman's  peerless  love. 
But  I  believ'd  them  not, 

Oh !  no,  I  knew  it  could  not  be, 


singer's  own  book.  257 

That  one  so  false  as  they  thought  him, 
Could  be  as  dear  to  me. 

They  told  me  not  to  love  him ! 

They  said  he  was  not  true, 
And  bade  me  have  a  care,  Jest  1 

JShouKi  do  what  I  might  rue : 
At  first  I  scorn'd  their  warnings — for 

I  could  not  think  that  he 
Coneeal'd  beneath  so  fair  a  brow, 

A  heart  of  perfidy. 

They  told  me  to  discard  him ! 

They  said  he  meant  me  ill — 
They  darkly  spoke  of  fiends  that  lure* 

And  smile,  and  kiss,  and — kill ! 
I  all  unheeding  heard  them,  for 

I  knew  it  could  not  be, 
That  one  so  false  as  they  thought  him 

Could  be  so  dear  to  me. 

But  they  forc'd  me  to  discard  him! 

Yet  1  could  not  cease  to  love — 
For  our  mutual  vows  recorded  were 

By  angel  hands  above. 
He  left  his  boyhood's  home,  and  sought 

Forgetfulness  afar; 
But  memory  stung  him, — and  he  fough 

And  fell,  in  glorious  war. 

He  dwelte  in  Heaven  now, — while  I 

Am  doom'd  to  this  dull  earth: 
Oh  !  how  my  sad  soul  longs  to  break 

Away,  and  wander  ibrth  : 
From  star  to  star  its  couree  would  be- 

Unresting  it  would  go, 
Till  we  united  were  above, 

Who  severed  were  below 

R 


258  THE  AMERICAN 


I  LOVE  THE  VILLAGE  CHURCH. 

I  love  the  village  church, 

With  its  ivy  mantled  tower  ; 
And  rustic  forms  around  the  porch, 

At  the  Sabbath's  holy  hour. 
The  music  of  the  bell, 

O'er  the  pleasant  valley  stealing ; 
And  the  simple  prayer  that  breathes  so  well 

The  pure  heart's  fervent  feeling. 

I  love  the  village  green, 

Where,  after  hours  of  labour, 
At  eve  the  young  and  old  are  seen, 

With  merry  pipe  and  tabor. 
The  banquet  is  not  spread, 

As  it  is  in  courtly  palaces ; 
But  nature,  o'er  the  spot,  has  shed 

Her  own  peculiar  graces. 

SONG  OF  THE  SKATERS. 

This  bleak  and  chilly  morning, 
With  frost  the  trees  adorning, 
Though  Phoebus  below 
Were  all  in  a  glow, 
Through  the  sparkling  snow 
A  skating  we  go, 

With  a  fal,  la!,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn. 
From  right  to  left  we're  plying, 
Swifter  than  wind  we're  flying, 
Spheres  on  spheres  surrounding, 
Health  and  strength  abounding, 
In  circles  we  swing  : 
Our  poise  still  we  keep, 
Behold  how  we  sweep 
The  face  of  the  deep, 

With  a  fal,  lal,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  "hern. 


singer's  own  book.  259 

Great  Jove  looks  down  with  wonder, 
To  view  his  sons  of  thunder : 
Though  the  waters  he  seal, 
We  rove  on  our  heel, 
Our  weapons  are  steel, 
And  no  danger  we  feel, 

With  a  fal,  lal,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn 
See,  see,  our  band  advances, 
See  how  they  join  in  dances, 
Horns  and  trumpets  sounding, 
Rocks  and  hills  rebounding, 
Let  Tritons  now  blow, 
And  call  us  their  foe, 
For  Neptune  below 
His  beard  dare  not  show. 

With  a  fal,  lal,  la, 

To  the  sound  of  the  merry  horn. 

THE  LIGHT  HOUSE. 

The  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  eye, 

Than  if  day  in  its  pride  hod  arrayed  it, 
The  land  breeze  blew  mild,  and  the  azure  arch'd  sky 

Looked  pure  as  the  spirit  that  made  it: 
The  murmur  rose  soft  as  I  silently  gazed 

In  the  shadowy  waves'  playful  motion, 
From  the  dim  distant  hill,  'till  the  light-house  fire 
blazed 

Like  a  star  in  the  midst  of  the  ocean. 

No  longer  the  joy  of  the  sailor  boy's  breast 

Was  heard  in  his  wildly  breathed  numbers, 
The  sea-bird  had  flown  to  her  wave  girdled  nest, 

The  fisherman  sunk  to  his  slumbers  : 
One  moment  I  looked  from  the  hill's  gentle  slope, 

All  hushed  was  the  billow's'  commotion, 
And  thought  that  the  light-house  locked  lovely  a* 
hope, 

That  star  of  life's  tremulous  ocean. 


260  THE  AMERICAN 

The  time  is  long  past,  and  the  scene  is  afar, 

Yet  when  my  head  rests  on  its  pillow, 
Will  memory  sometimes  rekindle  the  star 

That  blazed  on  the  breast  of  the  billow: 
In  life's  closing  hour,  when  the  trembling  soul  flies, 

And  death  stills  the  heart's  last  emotion ; 
O  then  may  the  seraph  of  mercy  arise, 

Like  a  star  on  eternity's  ocean. 

HERE'S  A  HEALTH  TO  ALL  GOOD  LASSES 

A  Glee. 

Here's  a  health  to  all  good  lasses, 
Pledge  it  merrily,  fill  yeur  glasses, 

Let  the  bumper  toast  go  round  ; 
May  they  live  a  life  of  pleasure, 
Without  mixture,  without  measure, 

For  in  that  true  joys  are  found. 

MONEY  IS  YOUR  FRIEND. 

Of  friendship  I've  heard  much  talk, 

But  you'll  find  in  the  end, 
That  if  distressed  at  any  time, 

Then  money  is  your  friend. 
Yes,  money  is  your  friend — is  it  not? 
Yes,  money  is  your  friend — is  it  not  ? 
Is  it  not  ? — is  it  not  ? — pray  tell  me  now, 
Yes,  money!  money!  is  your  friend. 

If  you  are  sick  and  like  to  die, 

And  for  the  doctor  send  ,* 
To  him  you  must  advance  a  fee, 

Then  money  is  your  friend. 

Yes,  money,  &c. 

If  you  should  have  a  suit  at  law, 

On  which  you  must  depend ; 
You  must  pay  the  lawyer's  brief, 

Then  money  is  your  friend. 
Yes  money,  &c. 


singer's  own  book.  261 

Then  let  me  have  but  store  of  gold, 

From  ills  it  will  defend ; 
In  every  exigence  of  life, 

Dear  money  is  your  friend. 

Yes,  money,  &c. 

THE  WINE  CELLAR. 

Air, — TJie  woodpecker 

I  knew  by  the  smell  which  so  gratefully  rose, 
And  cheered  up  my  heart,  a  wine  cellar  was  near-, 

And  I  said  if  a  man  wished  a  jolly  carouse, 
The  soul  thai;  is  thirsty  might  look  for  it  here: 

Every  leaf  was  at  rest,  and  I  heard  not  a  sound, 

But  the  old  butler  tapping  the  sherry  for  me. 

And  here  in  this  round  bellied  cask,  I  exclaimed, 
Is  a  mistress  so  lovely  to  soul  and  to  eye. 

That  with  her  no  mortal  could  fairly  be  blamed, 
Who  might  happily  live  and  most  jollily  die. 
Every  leaf  was  at  rest,  &c. 

'Neath  the   shade   of  yon  arch,  where   the   dam] 
slowly  drips, 
And  the  cobwebs  and  sawdust  so  sweetly  enrwTine, 
Flows  a  stream,  which  I  know,  as  I  pour  through 
my  lips, 
Has  never  been  tasted  by  any  but  mine. 

Every  leaf  was  at  rest,  &c. 

SAY,  MY  HEART,  WHENCE  COMES  THINE 

ANGUISH? 

Say,  my  heart,  whence  comes  thine  anguish  ? 

And  what  means  that  bitter  sigh? 
Here  are  lovely  scenes  around  thee, 

Tho'  beneath  a  foreign  sky 

Oh !  I  know  whence  comes  my  anguish, 
Whence  my  sighs  and  sadness  come: 

There  are  lovely  scenes  around  me, 
But  not  one  that  looks  like  home. 


262  THE    AMERICAN 


No  ! — abroad  none  love  so  truly, 
None  so  warmly  press  the  hand, 

Not  e'en  childhood  laughs  so  sweetly, 
As  at  home,  in  Switzerland. 

Oh !  my  heart !  cease,  cease  thy  mourning, 

If  'tis  still  thy  fate  to  roam ; 
Wait  in  hope,  till,  heav'n  ordaining, 

We  may  smile  once  more  at  home. 

Oh  !  ye  hills,  and  woods,  and  valleys, 
Where  my  hopes  and  joys  remain  : 

Oh  !  my  father  and  my  mother, 
Could  I  see  ye  once  again ! 

See  the  cottages  around  me, 

With  their  gaily  chequered  wall : 

Hear  my  neighbours  kindly  greeting, 
And  my  love's,  the  best  of  all ! 

I  will  up,  away,  and  hasten 
To  my  home  of  youthful  glee ; 

I  can  know  no  joy  nor  pleasure 
Till  my  native  land  I  see 

'TIS  BUT  FANCY'S  SKETCH. 

Here  mark  a  poor  desolate  maid, 
By  a  parent's  ambition  betray'd, 
Behold  on  her  fast  fading  cheek, 
The  tears  that  her  agony  speak  ; 
And  here  kneels  the  well-beloved  youth 
Calling  heaven  to  witness  his  truth; 
And  here  stands  the  murderous  wretch. 

But  mark  me, 

But  mark  me, 
'Tis  but  fancy's  sketch, 
Ah!  'tis  but  fancy's  sketch. 

Behold  in  his  face  are  express'd, 
The  passions  that  rage  in  his  breast ; 
Here  read,  while  he  dares  to  demand 
from  her  parents  this  maiden's  fair  hand, 


singer's  own  book.  263 

While  deep  in  his  dungeon  secured 
A  still  living  wife  is  immured ; 
Who  curses  the  murderous  wretch. 

But  start  not! 

But  start  not 
'Tis  but  fancy's  sketch, 
Ah!  'tis  but  fancy's  sketch. 

COLUMBIA. 

Columbia!  Columbia!  to  glory  arise, 

The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies; 

Thy  genius  commands  thee :  with  raptures  behold, 

While  ages  on  ages  thy  splendours  unfold  ; 

Thy  reign  is  the  last,  and  the  noblest  of  time, 

Most  fruitful  thy  soil,  most  inviting  thy  clime  ; 

Let  the  crimes  of  the  east  ne'er  encrimson  thy  name. 

Be  freedom,  and  science,  and  virtue  thy  fame. 

To  conquest  and  slaughter  let  Europe  aspire, 
'Whelm  nations  in  blood,  and  wrap  cities  in  fire, 
Thy  heroes  the  rights  of  mankind  shall  defend, 
And  triumph  pursue  them,  and  glory  attend  ; 
A  world  is  thv  realm,  for  a  world  be  thy  laws, 
Enlarged  as  thine  empire,  and  just  as  thy  cause  , 
On  freedom's  broad  basis  that  empire  shall  rise, 
Extend  with  the  main,  and  dissolve  with  the  sides. 

Fair  science  her  gates  to  thy  sons  shall  unbar, 
And  the  east  see  thy  morn  hide  the  beams  of  her  star; 
New  bards  and  new  sages  unrivalled  shall  soar. 
To  fame  unextinguished,  when  time  is  no  more : 
To  thee,  the  last  refuge  of  virtue  designed, 
Shall  fly,  from  all  nations,  the  best  of  mankind, 
Here,  grateful  to  heaven,  with  transports  shall  bring 
Their  incense,  more  fragrant  than  odours  of  spring 

Nor  less  shall  thy  fair  ones  to  glory  ascend, 
And  genius  and  beauty  in  harmony  blend  ; 
Their  graces  of  form  shall  awake  pure  desire, 
And  the  charms  of  the  soul  still  enliven  the  fire* 


264  THE  AMERICAN 


Their  sweetness  unmingled,  their  manners  refined, 
And  virtue's  bright  image  enstamped  on  the  mind, 
With  peace  and  soft  rapture  shall  teach  life  to  glow, 
And  light  up  a  smile  in  the  aspect  of  woe. 

Thy  fleets  to  all  regions  thy  power  shall  display, 

The  nations  admire,  and  the  ocean  obey; 

Each  shore  to  thy  glory  its  tribute  unfold, 

And  the  east  and  the  south  yield  their  spices  and  gold  ; 

As  the  day-spring  unbounded  thy  splendours  shall 

flow, 
And  earth's  little  kingdom  before  thee  shall  bow; 
While  the  ensigns  of  union  in  triumph  unfurled, 
Hush  the  tumults  of  war,  and  give  peace  to  the  world. 

Thus  as  down  a  lone  valley,  with  cedars  o'erspread. 
From  the  noise  of  the  city  I  pensively  strayed, 
The  gloom  from  the  face  of  fair  heaven  retired, 
The  winds  ceased  to  murmur,  the  thunders  expired ; 
Perfumes,  as  of  Eden,  flowed  sweetly  along, 
And  a  voice,  sure  of  angels,  enchantingly  sung, 
•  Columbia !  Columbia !  to  glory  arise, 
The  queen  of  the  world,  and  the  child  of  the  skies/ 

POOR  JACK. 
By  Mr  Dibdln. 

Go  patter  to  lubbers  and  swabs,  do  ye  see, 

'Bout  danger  and  fear  and  the  like, 
A  tight-water  boat  and  good  sea-room  give  me 

And  'tan't  to  a  little  I'll  strike. 
l*hough  the  tempest  top-gallant  masts,  smack  smooth 
should  smite, 

And  shiver  each  splinter  of  wood, 
Clear  the  wrreck,  stow  the  yards,  and  house  every 
thing  tight, 

And  under  reefed  foresail  we'll  scud. 
Avast!  nor  don't  think  me  a  milk-sop  so  soft, 

To  be  taken  for  trifles  a-back, 
For  they  say  there's  a  Providence  sits  up  aloft, 

To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack. 


singer's  own  book.  265 

Why  I  hoard  the  good  chaplain  palaver  one  day, 

About  souls,  heaven,  mercy  and  such, 
And,  my  timbers!  what  lingo  he'd  coil  and  belay, 

Why  'tuns  just  all  as  one  as  high  Dutch  ; 
But  he  said  how  a  sparrow  can't  founder  d'ye  see, 

Without  orders  that  comes  down  below, 
And  many  fine  things  that  proved  clearly  to  me, 

That  Providence  lakes  us  in  tow  i 
For  says  he,  do  you  mind  me,  let  storms  e'er  so  oft, 

Take  the  top-lifts  of  Sailors  a-back, 
There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  sits  perched  up  aloft, 

To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack. 

]  said  to  our  Poll,  for  you  see  she  would  cry, 

When  last  we  weighed  anchor  fcr  sea, 
What  arguefles  sniv'ling  and  piping  jour  eye, 

Why  what  a  damn'd  tool  you  must  be  ; 
Can't  you  see  the  world's  wide,  and  there's  room  io 
us  all, 

Both  for  seamen  and  lubbers  ashore, 
And  if  to  old  Davy  I  go,  my  dear  Poll, 

Why  you  never  will  hear  of  rne  more ; 
What  then,  all's  a  hazard,  come,  don't  be  so  soft, 

Perhaps  I  may  laughing  come  back; 
For  d'ye  see,  there's  a  cherub  sits  smiling  aloft, 

To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack. 

D'ye  mind  me,  a  sailer  should  be  every  inch, 

All  as  one  as  a  piece  of  the  ship: 
And  with  her  brave  the  world  without  offering  to 
flinch, 

From  the  moment  the  anchor's  a-trip: 
As  to  me,  in  all  weathers,  all  times,  sides,  and  ends, 

Nought's  a  trouble  from  duty  that  springs, 
My  heart  is  my  Poll's,  and  my  rhino  my  friend's, 

And  as  for  my  life,  'tis  the  king's : 
Even  when  my  time  comes,  ne'er  believe  me  so  soft, 

As  with  grief  to  be  taken  a-back, 
The  same  little  cherub  that  sits  up  alofi, 
Will  look  out  a  good  birth  for  poor  Jack- 


266  THE  AMERICAN 

EVENING  HYMN  OF  THE  VINTAGERS. 

Music  by  Mr  Nelson. 

'Tis  evening,  and  the  sun's  last  gleam 

Beneath  the  wave  will  soon  be  gone ; 
But  ere  it  leaves  the  mountain  stream, 

Our  vintage  labour  will  be  done. 
Hark!  hark,  the  pealing  vesper  bell 

From  toil  unto  devotion  calls ; 
Of  hope  and  joy  it  seems  to  tell, 

As  sweetly  on  the  ear  it  falls. 
Gloria  tibi,  domine. 

'Tis  sweet  to  rest  from  toil  awhile ; 

And  when  the  shades  of  night  are  come, 
To  meet  the  cheering  welcome-smile, 

That  waits  us  at  our  peaceful  home. 
Hark !  hark,  the  pealing,  &c. 

I'LL  SAY  YES,  WHEN  I'M  ASKED. 

A  maiden  there  was  who  was  silly  and  shy, 

And  she  looked  like  a  fool  when  her  lover  was  nigh, 

Yet  she  knew7  not  why. 
He  asked  her  one  day,  if  to  church  she  would  go, 
She  blush'd  more  than  ever  and  courtesied  low — 

And  she  answered  '  No;' 

But  it  was  with  a  sigh,  ^ 

And  she  knew  not  why! 

The  youth,  in  his  turn,  now  grew  shy  of  the  maid; 
He  courted  another,  who  was  not  afraid, 

And  who  '  Yes,'  soon  said. 
She  saw  them  go  by — she  repented  at  last — 
Oh,  ho,  the  next  time,'  (she   exclaimed,  as  they 

passed) 
I'll  say  yes,  when  I'm  asked ;' 

And  she  spoke  with  a  sigh, 
And  she  well  knew  why! 


singer's  own  book.  267 

~+*        ■       ■        '  ■  ■■■!■■■  -  -  -  --  ~  I  -         ■  ■■  I 

THE  PILGRIM  OF  LOVE. 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

Orynthia,  my  beloved,  I  call  in  vain! 
Orynthia,  echo  hears  and  calls  again ! 
A  mimic  voice  repeats  the  name  around, 
And  with  Orynthia  all  the  rocks  resound. 

A  hermit  who  dwells  in  these  solitudes  cross'd  me, 
As  wayworn  and  faint  up  the  mountain  I  press'd ; 

The  aged  man  paused  on  his  staff  to  accost  me, 
And  proffer'd  his  cell,  as  my  mansion  of  rest. 

Ah!  nay,  courteous  father,  right  onward  I  rove, 

No  rest  but  the  grave  for  the  pilgrim  of  love. 

Yet  tarry,  my  son,  till  the  burning  noon  passes, 

Let  boughs  of  the  lemon  tree  shelter  thy  head  , 
The  juice  of  ripe  muscadel  flows  in  my  glasses, 
And  rushes,  fresh  pull'd,  for  siesta,  are  spread. 
Ah!  nay,  courteous  father,  right  onward  I  rove, 
No  rest  but  the  grave  for  the  pilgrim  of  love. 

ONE  LITTLE  WORD  BEFORE  WE  PART 

One  little  word  before  we  part, 

Oh,  why  wish  to  leave  me  so  soon  ? 
With  him  who  owns  thy  faithful  heart, 

Come  wander  beneath  the  bright  moon. 

No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,  not  now,  the  maiden 

cried, 
'Twere  soon  enough  when  I'm  a  bride ; 
Hark,  hark !  I  hear  the  vesper  bell, 
Good  night,  adieu !  good  night,  farewell ! 

One  single  kiss  deny  me  not, 

Oh  what  from  true  love  can  you  fear? 

From  him,  who'd  share  with  thee  his  lot; 
Deny  me  not,  no  one  is  near. 
No,  no,  no,  &c. 


268  THE    AMERICAN 


FAR,  FAR  AT  SEA. 

'Twas  at  night,  when  the  bell  had  toll'd  twelve. 

And  poor  Susan  was  laid  on  her  pillow, 
In  her  ear  whisper'd  some  flitting  elve, 

1  Your  love  is  now  tors'd  on  a  billow, 

Far,  far  at  sea.' 

All  was  dark  as  she  woke  out  of  breath, 
.Not  an  object  her  fears  could  discover, 

All  was  stili  as  the  silence  of  death, 
Save  fancy,  which  painted  her  lover 

Far,  far  at  sea. 

So  she  whisper'd  a  prayer,  clos'd  her  eyes, 
But  the  phantom  still  haunted  her  pillow, 

Whilst  in  terror  she  echoed  his  cries, 
As  struggling,  he  sunk  in  a  billow, 

Far,  far  at  sea. 

THE  BUCKET. 

By  Samuel  Woodworth,  Esq. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my  child- 
hood, 
When  fond  recollection  recalls  them  to  view — 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep-tangled  wild- 
wood, 
And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy  knew; 
The  wide-spreading  pond,  and  the  mill  which  stood 
by  it, 
The  bridge,  and  the  rock  where  the  cataract  fell, 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy-house  nigh  it, 
The  old  oaken  bucket — the  iron-bound  bucket — 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  which  hung  in  the  well. 

That  moss-covered  vessel  I  hail  as  a  treasure, 
For  o^'ten,  at  noon,  when  return'd  from  the  field, 

f  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleasure, 
The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can  yield ; 


singer's  own  book.  269 

How  ardent  I  seized  it,  with  hands  that  were  glowing 
And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom  it  fell. 

Then  soon,  with  the  embiera  of  truth  overflowing, 
And  dripping  with  coolness,  it  rose  from  the  well — 

The  old  oaken  bucket — the  iron-bound  bucket — 

The  moss-covered  bucket  arose  from  the  well. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  brim  to  receive  it 

As  poised  on  the  cord,  it  inclined  to  my  lips; 
Not  a  full-blushing  goblet  could  tempt  me  to  leave  it 

Though  filled  with  the  nectar  that  Jupiter  sips. 
And  now  far  removed  from  the  loved  situation, 

The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell, 
As  fancy  revisits  my  father's  plantation, 

And  sighs  for  the  bucket  which  hangs  in  his  w  ell— 
The  old  oaken  bucket — the  iron-bound  bucket — 
The  moss-covered  bucket,  which  hangs  in  his  welL 

THE  LOVER'S  MISTAKE. 

Sung  by  Madame  Vesiris. 

A  fond  youth  serenaded  his  love 

Who  was  sleeping love  never  should  sleep, 

Her  father  w  as  peeping  above 

Oh!  fathers,  you  never  should  peep. 
To  his  daughter's  balcony  he  brought 

Her  monkey  in  muslins  arrayed  ; 
The  youth  was  o'erjoved,  for  he  thought 

'Tvvas  the  form  of  his  beautiful  maid,  his  maid, 

'Twas  the  form  of  his  beautiful  maid. 

He  gazed  on  the  figure  in  white, 

Whose  nods  gave  new  life  to  his  hopes ; 

His  heart  throbbed  with  love  and  delight, 
As  he  threw  up  the  ladder  of  ropes ; 

His  charmer  hopped  down  it,  and  then 
The  happy  delusion  was  o'er! 

Girls  often  meet  monkey-like  men, 
But  man  ne'er  woo'd  monkey  before,  before, 
But  man  ne'er  woo'd  monkey  before. 


270  THE  AMERICAN 

From  the  window  enjoying  the  joke, 

Her  father  feared  danger  no  more ; 
And  she  by  the  bustle  awoke, 

Soon  made  her  escape  at  the  door. 
•  Come,  come  to  your  Rosa/  she  said, 

1  Unless  you  prefer  my  baboon, 
And  pray  let  your  next  serenade 

Take  place  at  the  full  of  the  moon,  the  moon, 

Take  place  at  the  full  of  the  moon.' 

OUR  COUNTRY  IS  OUR  SHIP,  D'YE  SEE 

Our  country  is  our  ship,  d'ye  see, 

A  gallant  vessel,  too ; 
And  of  his  fortune  proud  is  he, 
Who's  one  of  our  bold  crew. 
Each  man,  whate'er  his  station  be, 
When  duty's  call  commands, 
Should  take  his  stand, 
And  lend  a  hand, 
As  the  common  cause  demands. 

And  when  our  haughty  enemies 

Our  noble  ship  assail, 
Then  all  true  hearted  lads  despise 

What  peril  may  prevail ; 
But  shrinking  from  the  cause  we  prize, 
If  lubbers  skulk  below, 
To  the  sharks 
Have  such  sparks, 
They  assist  the  common  foe. 

Among  ourselves,  in  peace,  'tis  true, 

We  quarrel — make  a  rout; 
And,  having  nothing  else  to  do, 

We  fairly  fight  it  out ; 
But  once  the  enemy  in  view, 
Shake  hands — we  soon  are  friends ; 
On  the  deck, 
Till  a  wreck, 
Each  the  common  cause  defends. 


singer's  own  book.  271 


I  WONT  BE  A  NUN. 

Now  is  it  not  a  pity  such  a  pretty  girl  as  I, 
Should  be  sent  to  a  nunnery  to  pine  away  and  die ; 
But  I  wont  be  a  nun — no,  I  wont  be  a  nun — 
I'm  so  fond  of  pleasure  that  I  cannot  be  a  nun. 

I'm  sure  I  cannot  tell  what's  the  mischief  I  have  done. 
But  my  mother  often  tells  me  that  I  must  be  a  nun. 
But  I  wont  be  a  nun,  &c. 

I  could  not  bear  confinement,  it  would  not  do  forme, 
For  I  like  to  go  a  shopping,  and  to  see  what  I  can  see. 
So  I  wont  be  a  nun,  &e. 

I  love  to  hear  men  flattering,  love  fashionable  clothes, 
I  love  music  and  dancing,  and  chatting  with  the  beaux. 
So  I  can't  be  a  nun,  &c. 

So  mother,  don't  be  angry  now,  but  let  your  daughter 

be, 
For  the  nuns  would  not  like  to  have  a  novice  wild 
as  me. 
And  I  can't  be  a  nun — no,  I  wont  be  a  nun — 
I'm  so  fond  of  pleasure  that  I  cannot  be  a  nun. 


THE  EVENING  SONG  OF  THE  TYROLESE 

PEASANTS. 

By  Mrs  Hemans. 

Come  to  the  sun-set  tree ! 

The  day  is  past  and  gone ; 
The  woodman's  axe  lies  free, 

The  reaper's  work  is  done. 
The  twilight  star  to  heaven, 

And  the  summer  dew  to  flowers, 
And  rest  to  us  is  given 

In  the  cool  refreshing  bowers. 
Come  to  the  sunset  tree,  &c 


272  THE  AMERICAN 


Sweet  is  the  hour  of  rest, 

Pleasant  the  wind's  low  sigh  ; 
The  gleaming  of  the  west, 

And  the  turf  whereon  we  lie. 
When  the  burden  of  the  heat 

Of  labour's  task  is  o'er, 
And  kindly  voices  greet, 

The  tired  one  at  his  door. 

Come  to  the  sun-set  tree,  &c 

Yes,  tuneful  is  the  sound 

That  dwells  in  whispering  boughs  ; 
Welcome  the  freshness  round. 

And  the  gale  that  fans  our  brows. 
Then,  though  the  wind  an  altered  tone 

Through  the  young  foliage  bear, 
Though  every  flower  of  something  gone, 

A  tinge  may  wear  ; 

Come  to  the  sun-set  tree,  &c. 

SHOULD  HE  UPBRAID. 

Should  he  upbraid,  I'll  own  that  he  prevail, 
And  sing  as  sweetly  as  the  nightingale ; 
Say  that  he  frown,  I'll  say  his  looks  I  view, 
As  morning  roses  newly  tipt  with  dew. 

As  morning  roses,  &c. 

Say  he  be  mute,  I'll  answer  with  a  smile, 
And  dance  and  play,  and  wrinkled  care  beguile. 

Should  he  upbraid,  &c. 

THE  ANCHOR'S  WEIGHED. 

The  tear  fell  gently  from  her  eye, 

When  last  we  parted  on  the  shore ; 
My  bosom  beat  with  many  a  sigh, 

To  think  I  ne'er  might  see  her  more : 
4  Dear  youth,'  she  cried, «  and  canst  thou  haste  away. 
My  heart  will  break,  a  little  moment  stay; 
Alas!  I  cannot  part  from  thee;' 
The  anchor's  weighed — farewell,  remember  me  V 


\ 


singer's  own  book.  273 

'  Weep  not,  my  love,'  ]  trembling  said, 
'Doubt  not  a  constant  heart  like  mine, 

I  ne'er  can  meet  another  maid, 

Whose  charms  can  lix  a  heart  like  mine :' 

'Go  then,'  she  cried,  '  but  let  thy  constant  mind 

Oft  think  on  her  you  leave  in  tears  behind!' 
Dear  maid,  this  last  embrace  mv  pledge  shall  be. 

The  anchor's  weighed — farewell,  remember  me V 

ANSWER  TO  '  RISE,  GENTLE  MOON/ 

By  Mrs  Cornwell  Baron  Wilson. 

The  moon  is  up!  her  silvery  beam 

Shines  bower  and  grove  and  mountain  over : 
A  flood  of  radiance,  heaven  doth  seem, 

To  light  thee,  maiden,  to  thy  lover. 
If  o'er  her  orb  a  cloud  should  rest, 

'Tis  but  thy  cheek's  soft  blush  to  cover 
He  waits  to  clasp  thee  to  his  breast; 

The  moon  is  up!  go  meet  thy  lover. 

The  moon  is  up!  round  beauty's  shrine 
Love's  pilgrims  bend  at  vesper  l>our, 

Earth  breathes  of  heaven  and  looks  divine, 
And  lover's  hearts  confess  her  power. 

If  o'er  her  orb,  &c. 

RISE,  WARRIOR,  RISE. 

Sung  by  Miss  Stephens. 

Rise,  warrior,  rise,  the  morn  has  shed 
Its  golden  glories  round  thy  bed  ; 

The  twilight  shades  now  fleet  away, 
And  mists  are  brightening  into  day. 

Rise,  warrior,  rise. 

Hark!  hark,  'tis  the  lark,  her  wings  o'er  thee  sweep, 
Her  song  as  she  soars  seems  reproving  thy  sleep, 
Thy  steed  doth  wnpatient  expecting  thee  stand, 
And  thy  blade  lies  unsl*eath'd  for  thy  conquering 
hand. 
S 


274  THE  AMERICAN 

Rise,  warrior,  rise,  though  dreams  are  sweet, 
When  absent  forms  in  slumber  meet, 
Though  hope  should  weave  such  dreams  for  thee 
And  lovely  visions  round  thee  flee. 

Rise,  warrior,  rise. 

Rise,  warrior,  rise,  'tis  glory  now 
Prepares  the  garland  for  thy  brow, 
Rise  from  thy  tempting  couch  of  down, 
And  win  and  wear  the  warrior's  crown. 

Rise,  warrior,  rise. 


THE  MAID  OF  LODL 

I  sing  the  maid  of  Lodi, 

Sweet  soother  of  my  toil ; 
Peace  dwells  within  her  bosom, 

And  pleasure  lights  her  smile. 
Her  eyes,  of  mildest  lustre, 

A  placid  mind  disclose ; 
Her  cheeks  in  beauty  rival 

The  blushes  of  the  rose. 

When  o'er  the  fading  landscape 

The  shades  of  twilight  steal, 
When  sea  and  land  are  blended 

Beneath  the  dusky  veil, 
I  meet  the  maid  of  Lodi, 

On  yonder  vine-cloth Td  hill, 
Or  whisper  tales  of  rapture, 

Beside  yon  sparkling  rill. 

Around  her  humble  dwelling 

No  servile  crowds  appear; 
She  but  receives  the  homage 

That  springs  from  hearts  sincere 
Then  sing  the  maid  of  Lodi, 

Whom  native  charms  adorn, 
Bright  as  the  glowing  radiance, 

That  gilds  the  dawn  of  mom. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  275 


THE  WINDS  WHISTLE  COLD.— A  Glee. 
The  winds  whistle  cold, 

And  the  stars  glimmer  red, 
The  flocks  are  in  fold, 

And  the  cattle  in  shed. 
When  the  hoar  frost  was  chill 
Upon  moorland  and  hill, 

And  was  fringing  the  forest  bough, 
Our  fathers  would  trowl 
The  bonny  brown  bowl, 
And  so  will  we  do  now, 

Jolly  hearts ! 
And  so  will  we  do  now. 

Gaffer  winter  may  seize 
Upon  milk  in  the  pail ; 
'Twill  be  long  ere  he  freeze 
The  bold  brandy  and  ale ; 
For  our  fathers  so  bold, 

They  laugh'd  at  the  cold, 
When  Boreas  was  bending  his  brow ; 
For  they  quaff  d  mighty  ale, 
And  they  told  a  blythe  tale, 
Ana  so  will  we  do  now, 

Jolly  hearts ! 
And  so  will  we  do  now. 

1  I'D  BE  A  BUTTERFLY. 

Sung  by  Miss  Kelly. 

I'd  be  a  butterfly,  born  in  a  bower, 

Where  roses,  and  lilies,  and  violets  meet : 
Roving  for  ever  from  flower  to  flower, 

And  kissing  all  buds  that  are  pretty  and  swest. 
I'd  never  languish  for  wealth  or  for  power, 

I'd  never  sigh  to  see  slaves  at  my  feet; 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  born  in  a  bower, 

Kissing  all  buds  that  are  pretty  and  sweet, 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  I'd  be  a  butterfly, 

Kissing  all  buds  that  are  pretty  and  sweet. 


276  THE  AMERICAN 

Oh,  could  T  pilfer  the  wand  of  a  fairy, 

I'd  have  a  pair  of  those  beautiful  wings; 
Their  summer  day's  ramble  is  sportive  and  airy, 

They  sleep  in  a  rose  when  the  nightingale  sings. 
Those  who  have  wealth,  must  be  watchful  and  wary, 

Power,  alas!  nought  but  misery  brings  ; 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  sportive  and  airy, 

Rock'd  in  a  rose  when  the  nightingale  sings, 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  I'd  be  a  butterfly, 

Rock'd  in  a  rose  when  the  nightingale  sings. 

What,  though  you  tell  me  each  gay  little  rover 

Shrinks  from  the  breath  of  the  first  autumn  day; 
Surely  'tis  better,  when  summer  is  over, 

To  die,  when  all  fair  things  are  fading  away; 
Some  in  life's  winter  may  toil  to  discover, 

Means  of  procuring  a  weary  delay. 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  living  a  rover, 

Dying  when  fair  things  are  fading  away, 
I'd  be  a  butterfly,  I'd  be  a  butterfly, 

Hying  w7hen  fair  things  are  fading  away. 

THE  NEVA  BOATMEN'S  SONG. 

By  Mr  Horn. 

Daylight  fades, 
Ev'ning  shades 
O'er  the  silent  waters  creep ; 
Winds  arise, 
And  with  sighs, 
Wake  the  stream  from  slumbers  deep: 
Swift  o'er  the  Neva  tides, 
Mark,  how  our  vessel  glides, 
O'er  the  curled  waves  she  rides, 
Scattering  pearl-drops  from  her  sides. 
Brothers,  row, 
Whilst  the  glow 
Of  twilight  sheds  a  parting  beam, 
'Till  our  lay 
Fades  away, 
And  dies  upon  the  Nova  stream. 


singer's  own  book.  277 

Eve  has  pass'd, 
Ami  shades  at  last, 
Round  the  darkening  waters  close, 
Yet  one  star 
Shines  aliir, 
Gilding  ev:ry  wave  that  flows. 
Soon  shall  the  hand  of  night, 
Hang  up  her  crescent  light ; 
Mild,  yet  with  splendour  bright, 
Chasing  ev'ry  gloom  from  sight- 
Brothers,  row,  &c. 

AS  SUNLIGHT  FALLS. 
Suing  by  Miss  Hughes. 

As  sunlight  falls  on  crystal  streams 

Thai  iirst  reflect  the  dav, 
On  youthful  hearts  so  kindly  gleams 

Love's  fresh  inspiring  ray. 

An  envious  cloud  the  sky  deforms, 

And  crystal  streams  flow  dark ; 
So  fares  the  heart  when  way-ward  storms 

Extinguish  love's  pure  spark. 

Yet  oh!  relent,  ye  adverse  powers, 

Life's  vanish  d  joys  restore, 
Those  rosy-colour'd  laughing  hours, 

That  bloom  to  fade  no  more. 

JOCKEY  TO  THE  FAIR. 

'Twas  on  the  morn  of  sweet  May  day, 
When  nature  painted  all  things  gay, 
Taught  birds  to  sing  and  lambs  to  play, 

And  gild  the  meadows  rare; 
Young  Jockey,  early  in  the  dawn, 
Arose  and  trip!  it  o'er  the  lawn  ; 
His  Sunday  coat  the  youth  put  on, 
For  Jennv  had  vowd  away  to  run 

With  Jockey  to  the  fair. 

For  Jenny  had,  &c. 


273  THE  AMERICAN 

The  cheerful  parish  bells  had  rung, 
With  eager  steps  he  trudg'd  along, 
With  flow'ry  garlands  round  him  hung, 

Which  shepherds  used  to  wear: 
He  tapp'd  the  window — 'Haste,  my  dear'- 
Jenny,  impatient,  cried  '  Who's  there  V 
1  'Tis  I,  my  love,  and  no  one  near, 
Step  gently  down,  you've  nought  to  fear, 

With  Jockev  to  the  fair.' 

I  My  dad  and  mamma's  fast  asleep, 
My  brother's  up  and  with  the  sheep, 
And  will  you  still  your  promise  keep 

Which  I  have  heard  you  swear? 
And  will  you  ever  constant  prove?' 

I I  will  by  all  the  powers  of  love, 
And  ne'er  deceive  my  charming  dove: 
Dispel  these  doubts,  and  haste,  my  love, 

With  Jockey  to  the  lair.' 

4  Behold  the  ring !'  the  shepherd  cried, 
1  Will  Jenny  be  my  charming  bride  ? 
Let  Cupid  be  our  happy  guide, 

And  Hymen  meet  us  there.' 
Then  Jockey  did  his  vows  renew, 
He  would  be  constant,  would  be  true : 
His  word  was  pledged — away  she  flew, 
O'er  cowslip  tipt  with  balmy  dewT, 

With  Jockey  to  the  fair. 

In  rapturea  meet  the  jovial  throng, 
Their  gay  companions  blithe  and  young: 
Each  joins  the  dance,  each  joins  the  song, 

And  hails  the  happy  day: 
Return'd,  there's  none  so  fond  as  they, 
They  bless'd  the  kind  propitious  day, 
The  smiling  morn  of  blooming  May, 
When  lovely  Jenny  ran  away 

With  Jockey  to  the  fair. 


singer's  own  book.  279 


HURRAH  FOR  THE  EMERALD  ISLE. 
Sung  by  Miss  Rock. 

There's  a  health  to  the  friends  that  are  far, 

There's  a  health  to  our  friends  that  are  near, 
Here's  to  those  who  rank  first  in  the  war, 

Oh  the  brave  hearts  that  never  knew  fear! 
Here's  to  him  who  for  freedom  first  draws, 

And  here's  to  the  heart  free  from  guile, 
The  patriot  friend  to  his  home  and  his  laws. 

Who  stands  by  his  own  native  isle. 

Then  Hurrah  for  the  Emerald  Isle! 

And  here's  to  the  bosonrfs  bright  glow, 

When  the  banner  of  liberty  waves ; 
And  here's  may  she  conquer  her  foe, 

Ere  the  sons  of  her  slorv  be  slaves! 
Then  here's  to  the  fri-ends  all  around, 

The  emblem  of  Erin's  rich  soul, 
And  oh!  may  they  ever,  when  wanted,  be  found 

To  stand  by  their  own  native  isle. 

Then  Hurrah  for  the  Emerald  Isle ! 

THE  VESPER  HYMN 

Russian  Air. 

Hark,  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing 

O'er  the  waters,  soft  and  clear 
Nearer  yet,  and  nearer  pealing, 
Now  it  bursts  upon  the  ear: 

Jubilate, Amen. 

Farther  now,  now  farther  stealing, 
Soft  it  fades  upon  the  ear. 

>><w.  like  moonlight  waves  retreating" 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along; 
Now  like  angry  sumes  meeting, 

Breaks  the  mingled  tide  of  song. 
Hark!  again  like  waves  retreating 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along. 


2S0  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  BRIDAL  STAR. 

Plis  white  plume  o'er  the  mountain  streams, 

My  heart  throbs  with  delight, 
His  corslet  in  the  sunshine  beams, 

He  comes  my  peerless  knight. 
The  banquet  spread  and  music  bring 

From  holy  land  afar, 
His  lady  love  shall  welcome  sing. 

And  touch  her  gay  guitar. 

While  songs  of  mirth  and  pastime  strains, 

Are  breathing  soft  around, 
Hail,  vassals,  hail,  till  yonder  plains 

Plis  welcome  home  resound  ; 
I'll  deck  myself  in  all  my  best, 

And  wear  my  Bridal  Star: 
And  now  he's  laid  his  lance  at  rest, 

I'll  touch  my  gay  guitar. 

The  banquet  spread,  &e. 

AMERICA,  COMMERCE,  AND  FREEDOM. 

How  blest  the  life  a  sailor  leads, 

From  clime  to  clime  still  ranging 
For  as  the  calm  the  storm  succeeds, 
The  scene  delights  by  changing. 
Though  tempests  howl  along  the  main, 

Some  objects  will  remind  us, 
And  cheer  with  hope  to  meet  again 
The  friends  we  left  behind  us. 
Then  under  full  sail  we  laugh  at  the  gale, 
And  the  landsmen  look  pale,  never  heed  them, 
But  toss  off  a  glass  to  some  favourite  lass, 
To  America,  Commerce,  and  Freedom. 

But  when  arrived  in  sight  of  land, 

Or  safe  in  port  rejoicing, 
Our  ship  we  moor,  our  sails  we  hand, 

Whilst  out  the  boat  is  hoisting ; 


1 


sinker's  own  rook.  281 

With  cheerful  hearts  the  shore  we  reach, 

Our  friends  deli  noted  greet  as, 
And  tripping  lightly  o'er  ilie  beach, 
The  pretty  lasses  meet  us. 
When  the  full  flowing  bowl  enlivens  the  soul, 
To  foot  it  we  merrily  lend  them; 
And  each  bonny  lass  will  drink  off  her  glass 
To  America,  Commerce,  and  Freedom. 

Our  prizes  sold,  the  chink  we  share, 

And  gladly  we  receive  it; 
And  when  we  meet  a  brother  tar 
That  wants,  we  freely  give  it: 
No  free-born  Bailer  yet  had  store, 

Bat  ehoerfullv  would  lend  it: 
And  when  'tis  gone — to  sen  lor  more, 
"Wo  earn  it  but  to  spend  it. 
Then  drink  round,  my  boys,  'tis  the  first  of  our  joys, 
To  relieve  the  distressed,  clothe  and  ihed  them, 
*Tis  a  duty  we  share  with  the  brave  and  the  fair, 
In  this  laud  of  Commerce  and  Freedom. 

THE  BONNY  LAD. 

Young  Jamii1  is  a  bonny  lad, 

None  blvther  I  can  see, 
So  trim  he  wears  his  tartan  plaid, 

So  kind  lie  blinks  at  me. 
As  kind  I  blink  at  him  again, 

My  smiles  I  dinna  stint, 
Yet  still  he  gies  mv  bosom  pain, 

He  winna  take  the  hint. 

lie  tother  day  a  posie  brought, 

The  rose  and  lily  too, 
An  emblem  I  must  own  I  thought, 

Might  tell  him  what  to  do. 
I  courtesied  low  and  smiled  again, 

My  smiles  I  never  stint, 
Yet  still  he  pes  :nv  bosom  pain, 

He  canna  take  the  hint. 


282  THE  AMERICAN 

Ye  favour'd  lasses  of  our  town, 

Advise  me  if  you  can, 
That  I  may  a1  my  wishes  crown, 

Upon  a  modest  plan. 
I'll  do  my  best  to  gain  his  love, 

My  dress  shall  be  in  print, 
And  I  will  ever  constant  prove, 

If  he  will  take  the  hint. 


THE  LAST  SHILLING, 

By  Mr  Dibdin. 

As  pensive  one  night  in  my  garret  I  sate, 

My  last  shilling  produced  on  the  table ; 
That  adventurer,  cried  I,  might  a  history  relate, 

If  to  think  and  to  speak  it  were  able. 
Whether  fancy  or  magic  'twas  played  me  the  freak, 

The  face  seemed  with  life  to  be  filling  ; 
And  cried,  instantly  speaking,  or  seeming  to  speak, 

1  Pay  attention  to  me — thy  last  shilling. 

4 1  wTas  once  the  last  coin  of  the  law  a  sad  limb, 

Who,  in  cheating,  was  ne'er  known  to  falter; 
Till  at  length  brought  to  justice,  the  law  cheated  him. 

And  he  paid  me  to  buy  him  a  halter. 
A  Jack  tar,  all  his  rhino  but  me  at  an  end, 

With  a  pleasure  so  hearty  and  willing, 
Though  hungry  himself,  to  a  poor  distressed  friend 

Wished  it  hundreds — and  gave  his  last  shilling. 

*  'T  was  the  wife  of  his  messmate,  whose  glistening  eye 

With  pleasure  ran  o'er  as  she  viewed  me : 
She  changed  me  for  bread,  as  her  child  she  heard  cry, 

And  at  parting  with  tears  she  bedewed  me. 
But  I've  other  scenes  known,  riot  leading  the  way, 

Pale  want  their  poor  families  chilling; 
WTiere  rakes  in  their  revels,  the  piper  to  pay, 

Have   spurned    me— their    best   friend   and   las* 
fihilling. 


singer's  own  book.  283 

'Thou  thyself  hast  been  thoughtless — for  profligates 
bail, 

But  to-morrow  all  eare  shalt  thou  bury, 
When  my  little  history  thou  oflerest  lor  sale; 

In  the  interim  spend  me  and  be  merry.' 
'Never,  never,'  I  cried,  '  thou'rt  my  mentor,  my  muse. 

And,  grateful,  thy  dictates  fulfilling, 
I'll  hoard  thee  in  my  heart.'    Thus  men  counsel  refusr 

Till  the  lecture  comes  from  the  last  shilling. 

THE  TWILIGHT  HOUR. 

O!  sweet  is  twilight's  hour, 

When  the  gay  sun  is  set  in  night, 
And  ev'ry  tree  and  biossom'd  flower 

Weep  tears  of  light 
Oh!  sweet  is  evening's  close, 

When  shadows  on  the  mountains  rest, 
And  the  clear  moon  her  radiance  throws 

On  ocean's  breast 

In  every  heart  mr.st  reign 

A  holy  calm  at  moonlight's  hour: 
Then  passions  wild,  and  follies  vain, 

Resign  their  power. 
Oh!  there's  a  rapture  found 

In  scenes  like  these,  that  ne'er  was  giv 
To  day-light's  glare,  for  all  around 

Tells  us  of  heaven ! 

THE  MOON  LIT  BOWER. 
Snvg  by  Madame  Ve?tris. 

Nay,  ask  me  not ;  the  moon  lit  bower 

Of  love  is  not  fir  me, 
Nor  hath  my  lyre  the  magic  power 

To  wake  such  lays  for  thee. 
For  jovance  never,  never  more, 

Will  sweep  Bcroai  its  itrin 
Its  melodies  are  shadowed  o'er 

By  sorrow's  raven  wings 


2S4  THE    AMERICAN 

]\Tor  bid  me  sing,  for  why  should  I 

On  themes  of  sadness  dwell. 
To  call  the  tear-drop  to  thine  eye, 

Or  cause  thy  heart  to  swell 
With  feelings  tliat  would  badly  suit, 

A  heart  so  young  as  thine  ? 
Oh!  let  me  die  ere  I  pollute 

With  grief  that  bosom's  shrine. 

The  grave  will  soon,  the  happy  grave, 

Will  soon  enshroud  this  form, 
Which,  like  the  ocean's  tremulous  wave, 

Hath  often  felt  a  storm  : 
And  in  some  lone,  deserted  spot 

My  resting  place  shall  be, 
By  native  hill  and  stream,  forgot 

Perhaps  by  ail  but  thee. 

THE  OLD  OAK  TREE. 

The  old  oak  tree  our  shade  shall  be, 
And  there  you  shall  sing  gay  songs  to  me  ; 
Each  sparkling  glass  that  wre  fill  to-night, 
Reflecting  a  smile,  shall  beam  more  bright; 
And  we'll  drink  to  those  that  we  fain  would  see, 
Under  the  shade  of  the  old  oak  tree. 

Come;  fashion  !  and  see  our  canopy, 

The  gay  green  leaves  of  the  old  oak  tree ; 

The  setting  sun,  and  the  rising  mocn, 

Together  shall  light  our  sweet  saloon  ; 

We've  the  song  of  the  bird,  and  the  hum  of  the  bee, 

Under  the  shade  of  the  old  oak  tree. 

Oh !  let  there  not  be  a  fire  for  me, 
Kindled  against  the  old  oak  tree ; 
Too  many,  alas !  will  wound  the  stem 
Of  the  tree  that  in  kindness  shelter'd  them: 
jNo  brand  shall  be  lighted  for  you  or  for  me, 
Under  the  shade  of  the  old  oak  tree. 


singer's  own  boon.  285 

THE  MOUNTAINEER'S  RETURN. 

Tin*  parting  beam  of  day 
Has  ting'd  the  western  sky, 

And  o'er  its  closing  ray, 

Night's  shailows  quickly  fly. 
The  hunter  with  his  spoil, 

His  homeward  pathway  winds, 
And  the  woodman  from  his  toil, 

A  cheering  welcome  finds. 
The  evening  a  quiet  hour 

Hath  charms  for  ev'ry  breast, 
But  most  ibr  him  to  whom 

The  night  alone  brings  rest. 

The  flock  is  in  the  fold, 

And  the  shepherd's  task  is  done, 
The  fisher's  sails  are  furl'd, 

And  the  ev'ning  sports  begun. 
As  twilight  fades  away. 

The  moon  begins  to  <rlan.ee 
The  brightness  of  her  ray, 

On  the  maidens  in  the  dance. 

The  ev'ning*s  quiet  hour,  &c 

THEN  WAKE  FROM  THY  SLUMBERS. 

The  heath  is  all  lonely  and  drear,  love, 

There's  nobody  stirring  or  near,  love ; 

Then  awake  from  thy  slumbers  and  hear,  love, 

My  last  farewell  to  thee: 

The  stars  are  deserting  the  skies,  love, 

The  night-owl  is  ceasing  his  cries. 

Then  hasten  to  bless  these  fond  eyes,  love, 

And  open  thy  lattice  to  me. 

The  night  is  passing  away,  love, 
And  losing  its  gloom  in  the  day,  love, 
Then  lend  of  thine  eyes  but  one  ray,  love, 
E'er  I  go  afar  o'er  the  sea. 

Then  hasten,  <S:c. 


286  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  MUSICAL  WIFE. 

My  wife  is  very  musical, 

She  tunes  it  over  much, 
And  teases  me  with  what  they  call 

Her  fingering  and  touch. 
She's  instrumental  to  rny  pain, 

Her  very  Broadwood,  quakes, 
Her  vocal  efforts  split  my  brain, 

I  shiver  when  she  shakes! 

She  tells  me,  w7ith  the  greatest  ease 

Her  voice  goes  up  to  C ! 
And  proves  it  till  her  melodies 

Are  maladies  to  me. 
She's  '  Isabeiling,'  if  I  stir 

From  where  my  books  lie  hid ; 
Or,  '  Oh  !  no,  never  mention  her,' — 

I  wish  she  never  did. 

Her  newest  tunes  turn  out  to  be 

The  same  as  heard  last  year; 
Alas!  there's  no  variety 

In  variations  here. 
I  see  her  puff,  I  see  her  pant 

Through  ditties  wild  and  strange, 
I  wish  she'd  change  her  notes, — they  want 

Some  silver  and  some  change. 


LIFE'S  LIKE  A  SHIR 

Life's  liko  a  ship  in  constant  motion, 

Sometimes  high  and  sometimes  low, 
Where  every  one  must  brave  the  ocean, 

Whatsoever  winds  do  blow : 
If  unassailed  by  squall  or  shower, 

Wafted  by  the  gentle  gales, 
Let's  not  lose  the  favouring  hour, 

While  success  attends  our  sails. 


SINGER  S  OWN  BOOK.  287 

Or  if  the  wayward  winds  should  bluster, 

Let  us  not  give  way  to  &ar; 
But  let  us  all  our  patience  muster, 

And  learn  by  reason  how  to  steer. 
Let  judgment  keep  you  ever  steady, 

m  a  ballast  never  fails: 
Should  dangers  rise,  be  ever  ready. 

To  manage  well  the  swelling  sails. 

Trust  not  too  much  your  own  opinion, 

While  your  vessel's  under  weigh; 
Let  good  example  bear  dominion, 

That's  a  compass  will  not  strav: 
When  thundering  tempests  make  you  shudder 

Or  Boreas  on  the  surface  rails, 
Let  good  discretion  guide  the  rudder, 

And  Providence  attend  the  sails. 

Then,  when  you're  safe  from  danger  riding, 

In  some  welcome  port  or  bay ; 
Hope  be  the  anchor  you  confide  in, 

And  care  awhile  to  slumber  lay : 
Or  when  each  can  with  liquor's  flowing, 

And  good  fellowship  prevails; 
Let  each  true  heart,  with  rapture  glowing ; 

Drink  success  unto  our  sails. 


THE  SPRING  TIME  OF  YEAR  IS  COMING 

Sung  by  Mr  Sinclair. 

The  spring  time  oi"  year  is  coming,  coming, 

Birds  are  blithe,  are  blithe  and  gav, 
Insects  bright  arc  humming,  humming, 

And  all  the  world  is  May,  love, 

And  all  the  world  is  May. 

The  glorious  sun  is  brighter, 

The  balmy  air  is  lighter ; 

E'en  woman  w  hen  we  meet  her 

In  this  sweet  time  is  sweeter. 

The  spring  time,  &c» 


288  THE    AMERICAN 

The  gale  is  gently  swelling,  swelling, 

With  fragrance  from  the  balmy  grove, 
And  youthful  swains  are  telling,  telling, 

Their  happy  tales  of  love,  love, 

Their  happy  tales  of  love. 
Spring  makes  the  pulse  with  pleasure  beat, 

Spring  makes  the  heart  with  rapture  thrill, 
Each  maiden  hastes  her  love  to  meet, 

With  hope  and  joy  his  heart  to  fill. 

The  spring  time,  &c 

THE  MARINER'S  BRIDE. 

Hark !  o'er  the  wave,  the  north  blast  is  howling, 
Look,  from  the  skies,  the  tempest  is  scowling  : 
Down  on  the  beach  where  wild  waves  are  rushing, 
Is  one,  from  whose  eye  the  cold  tear  is  gushing: 
She  look'd  on  the  shore,  there,  helpless  and  shattered, 
The  wreck,  like  her  hopes,  to  the  wild  winds  are 
scatter'd. 

There  stood  the  lone  one,  in  comfortless  sorrow, 
'Till  sunlight  again  burst  forth  on  the  morrow  ; 
The  tempest  was  hush'd,  no  wind  cross'd  the  ocean. 
But  morn  could  not  calm  her  bosom's  emotion, 
She  w:eeps  for  her  love,  o'er  the  billows  a  ranger, 
On  night  such  as  this  of  darkness  and  danger. 
Well  may  she  weep,  poor  mariner's  bride, 
Well  may  she  wTeep,  poor  mariner's  bride, 

I  DREAMT)  THAT  MY  LOVE. 

I  dream'd  that  my  love  was  a  sprite  of  the  deep, 

And  that  I  was  a  mermaid  fair ; 
And  at  eve  to  my  coral  cave  he'd  creep, 

To  bind  up  my  streaming  hair ; 
Then  leave  on  my  lips  such  a  glowing  kiss, 
That  I  cried,  ■  Oh,  what  mortal  can  equal  this!' 
What  pity,  what  pity,  to  see  such  dreams 
Pass  away  in  the  light  of  the  morning  beams ! 


singcr's  own  boojl  289 


My  •  -  «  then  chaog'd,  and  the  king  of  the  storm 
Wrapp*d  the  ocean  in  lx>ilinu;  loam; 

And  a  Head,  of  a  Btrange  and  fearful  ibrm, 
Dragg'd  me  down  to  his  demon  home. 

Then  1  thought  my  love,  with  a  shining  band 
Bore  me  off  through  i  lie  air  lo  some  lairy  land  — 
Whai  pity,  what  pity,  to  see  such  dreams 
Pass  away  in  the  light  ot'  the  morning  beams, 

MY  COTTAGE  AND  VINE 

Here,  far  away  from  wealth  and  pow'r 

As  far  from  want  remov'd, 
My  home  I've  made  the  simple  bovv'r, 

That  first  in  youth  I  lov'd ; 
Where  snow-clad  mountains  proudly  rise 

And  blooming  roses  twine, 
Where  gentle  waters  flow  around 

My  cottage  and  my  vine. 

Dear  home  of  innocence  and  peace, 

The  vale  of  early  vears, 
In  thee  I'll  bid  my  sorrows  cease, 

And  dry  my  (lowing  tears; 
For  ev'ry  joy  the  heart  can  prove, 

Or  wish,  will  here  be  mine; 
With  friends  long  lov'd 

I'll  giadiy  share,  my  cottage  and  my  vine. 

I  KNOWT  WHO. 

How  sweet  the  fragrant  breath  of  May, 

At  dreary  winter's  close! 
And  sweet  each  bud  and  flow'ret  gay, 

And  dew-drop  on  the  rose ! 
And  sweet  to  hear  the  nightingale 

That  lovely  rose-bud  woo! 
But  sweeter  far  the  tender  tale 

That's  told  by  I  know  who, 

That's  told  by  I  know  who. 

T 


290  THE  AMERICA* 

How  sweet  the  lark's  shrill  voice  to  hear, 

The  blackbird  and  the  thrush, 
And  sweet  the  linnet's  note,  more  near* 

Upon  the  hawthorn  bush ! 
And  sweet  it  is  at  eve  to  rove, 

And  hear  the  dove's  soft  eoo  f 
But  sweeter  far  the  tale  of  love, 

That's  told  by  I  know  who, 

That's  told  by  I  know  who* 

VALE  CRUCia 

By  Mr  Rnscoe. 

Vale  of  the  cross,  the  shepherds  tell 
Tis  sweet  within  thy  woods  to  dwell, 
For  there  are  sainted  shadows  seen, 
That  frequent  haunt  the  dewy  green. 
In  wandering  winds  the  dirge  is  sung, 
The  convent  bell  by  spirits  rung, 
And  matin  hymns  and  vesper  prayer 
Break  softly  on  the  tranquil  air. 

Vale  of  the  cross,  the  shepherds  tell 
*Tis  sweet  within  thy  woods  to  dwell, 
For  peace  has  there  her  spotless  throne, 
And  pleasures  to  the  world  unknown; 
The  murmurs  of  the  distant  rills, 
The  Sabbath  silence  of  the  hills, 
And  all  the  quiet  God  hath  given, 
Without  the  golden  gates  of  heaven. 

THE  SPRIG  GF  SHILLELAH. 

Och,  love  is  the  soul  of  a  nate  Irishman, 

lie  loves  all  the  lovely,  loves  all  that  he  can, 

With  his  sprig  of  shilielah  and  shamrock  so  greeri 
His  heart  is  good-humoured — 'tis  honest  and  sound, 
No  malice  or  hatred  is  there  to  be  found, 
He  courts  and  he  marries,  he  drinks  and  he  fights, 
For  love,  all  for  love,  for  in  that  he  delights, 

With  his  sprig  of  shilielah  and  shamrock  so  greea 


singer's  own  book.  291 

Who  has  e'er  had  the  luck  to  see  Donnybrook  fair, 
An  Irishman  nil  in  hia  ulory  is  there, 

With  his  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green, 
His  clothes  spick  and  spoil  new  without  e'er  a  speck, 
A  neat  Barcelona  lied  round  his  white  neck; 
He  goes  to  a  tent,  and  be  spends  half  a  crown, 
He  meets  with  a  friend,  and  for  love  knocks  him  down 

With  a  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green. 

At  evening  returning,  as  homeward  he  goes, 

His  heart  soit  with  whiskey,  his  head  sell  with  blows 

From  a  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green, 
He  meets  with  his  Shelah,  who,  biushing  a  smile, 
Cries,  'Get  ye  gone,  Pal,'  yet  consents  all  the  while, 
To  the  priest  then  they  go — and,  nine  months  after 

that, 
A  fine  baby  cries  out,  'How  d'ye  do,  father  Pat, 

With  your  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green  ? 

Bless  the  country,  say  I,  that  gave  Patrick  his  birth, 
Bless  the  land  of  the  oak,  and  its  neighbouring  earth, 
Where  grows  the  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green,' 
May  the  sons  of  the  Thames,  the  Tweed,  and  the 

Shannon, 
Drub  the  foe  who  dares  plant  on  our  confines  a 

cannon ; 
United  and  happy,  at  loyalty's  shrine, 
May  the  rose,  leek  and  thistle,  long  flourish   and 
twine 
Round  a  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green. 


MY  LOVELY  BRUNETTE. 

My  lovely  brunette,  to  your  Spanish  guitar, 
'Tis  sweet  to  be  dancing  beneath  the  night  star; 
INow   winding    through    mazes,   now   culling    eve 

flowers 
Weeping  with  dew-drops  from  Spain's  sultry  bowers 
My  own  native  shores  could  1  ever  ft >rget, 
I  should  blame  your  guitar  and  your  light  Castanet 


292  THE  AMERICAN 

But  my  charming  brunette,  'twere  sweeter  to  me, 
To  be  seated  beneath  my  own  hawthorn  tree ; 
To  be  telling  my  tale  in  my  dear  native  isle, 
My  Spanish  love  smiling  upon  me  the  while, 
Oh!  there  by  the  moonlight,  'twere  sweeter  by  far 
To  dance,  my  brunette,  to  your  Spanish  guitar. 


THE  MERRY  MOUNTAIN  PIPE. 

The  merry  mountain  pipe 

Sounds  s  weetiy  on  the  hill ; 
In  memory  oft  I  hear 

Its  lingering  echoes  still. 
Dear  are  the  days  long  past, 

With  those  that  now  are  gone ; 
They  were  too  bright  to  last, 

And  like  sweet  dreams  have  flown. 

The  merry  mountain  pipe,  &c 

But  hope's  enlivening  ray, 

Beaming  through  anxious  years, 

Will  chase  my  cares  away, 
And  change  to  smiles  my  tears. 

The  merry  mountain  pipe,  &c 


MAIDENS  YOUNG  AND  TENDER. 

Maidens  young  and  tender. 

Take  a  hint  from  me ! 
Ne'er  your  heart  surrender, 

Never  married  be ! 
If  you  wed  an  old  beau, 

Jealous  he  will  prove  : 
Grumble  at  and  scold  you, 

All  by  way  of  love ! 
So  maidens  young  and  lender, 

Take  a  hint  from  me ! 
Ne'er  your  heart  surrender 

Never  married  be! 


singer's  own  book.  293 

If  a  youth  you  marry, 

You're  better  not  a  whit ; 
Your  plans  will  all  miscarry, 

For  he  wont  submit ! 
Should  you  frown,  he  cries  out, 

1  Love,  honour,  and  obey  !' 
And  though  you  weep  your  eyes  out, 

You'll  not  get  your  own  way ! 
So  maidens  young  and  tender, 

Take  a  hint  from  me ! 
Ne'er  your  heart  surrender, 

Never  married  be. 

HARK!  HARK!  THROUGH  THE  WILD  WOOD 

Tyrolese  war  so?ig, — Sung  by  Madame  Yestris 

They  come  through  the  wild  wood, 

I  hear  their  warrior  strain  ; 
The  haunts  of  their  childhood 

Allure  their  steps  again. 
I  see  their  glittering  spears  afar, 
I  hail  the  glorious  voice  of  war, 
The  sunbeams  on  their  morions  glance 
And  quiver  o'er  each  sparkling  lance. 
I  see  their  glittering  spears  afar, 
I  hear  the  glorious  voice  of  war, 
Hark!  hark!  through  the  wild  wood, 
I  hear  the  martial  strain. 

Oh !  let  not  tears  our  welcome  speak, 

Or  cloud  affection's  brow  : 
Tears  gemm'd  at  parting  even*  cheek, 

But  smiles  should  greet  them  now. 
Twine  round  their  heart  your  spells  of  power, 

Home,  peace,  and  love ! 
Through  weary  life's  long  future  hour, 
No  more,  no  more  to  rove. 

I  see  the  glittering  spears  afar, 
I  hail  the  glorious  voice  of  war, 
Hark!  hark!  through  the  wild  wood, 
Resounds  the  martial  strain. 


294  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  BRIGHT,  BRIGHT  SHORE. 

Sang  by  Mr  Horn* 

I  hear  thy  shell  resound 

The  trembling  waters  o'er, 
And  the  songs  that  swell  around 

My  own  bright  shore  ! 
The  melting  charm  I  hear, 

The  tuneful  melody, 
That  soothes  the  list'ning  ear 

In  the  chambers  of  the  sea, 
Where  the  ]\Tereid  sisters  play, 

And  the  envied  smile  to  reap 
Their  wave-born  loves  array, 

All  the  treasures  of  the  deep, 
But  oh  !  I  may  not  leave, 

To  roam  the  waters  o'er, 

My  own  bright  shore, 

The  bright,  bright  shore! 

The  golden  hue  of  day, 

With  the  rich  and  radiant  shower 
Of  all  the  bloom  of  May, 

Here  decks  my  parent  bower; 
And  hope,  and  truth,  and  love, 

If  e'er  writh  mortals  found, 
Thrice  bless  my  native  grove, 

And  breathe  a  heaven  around. 
Then  hither  from  the  wave, 

And  share  our  sweeter  store , 

0  hither  from  the  wave, 

And  share  our  sweeter  store : 

1  may  not,  cannot  leave, 

The  shore,  the  lovely  shore, 
My  owti  bright  shore, 
The  bright,  bright  shore ! 


singer's  own  bcok.  295 


OBERON'S  CORONATION. 

The  elf  king  is  to  be  crowned  to-night: 
The  fairy  court  is  all  delight. 

Who  is  the  elf  king  \  who's  the  elf  king? 

Oberon,  immortal  sprite, 

Who  rules  the  elfin  world  of  night. 

That  tiny,  tiny,  airy  thing, 

Is  Oberon,  the  fairy  king' 


The  mimic  peal  from  cowslip  bells 

Is  ringing,  merry  ringing, 
Where  tiny  elves,  hid  in  their  cells, 

The  fairy  chimes  are  singing; 
Up  elves  and  sprites,  ye  myriads  up; 

And  see  king  Oberon  crovvn'd  ; 
Haste  to  his  court  with  light  wing'd  feet. 
Like  spangles  o'er  the  star-lit  ground. 
All  hail  to  thee!  great  Oberon, 

Enjoy  thy  festal  rite, 
Monarch  of  a  wrorid  unseen, 
And  fairy  king  of  night 


SHE  CHANTED  HER  LOVER  TO  COME. 

One  morn  when  bright  Phcebus  was  low, 
A  maiden  had  straved  from  her  home, 

And  the  sweet  warbling  lark  rising  slow, 
She  chanted  her  lover  to  come. 

Through  meadows  o'erspangled  with  dew, 
4  Sweet  warbler,  sweet  warbler,'  she  cried, 

'My  lover,  my  lover's  untrue,' 

And  she  sunk  by  a  glossy  brook  side. 

'Pretty  warbler,  111  fly  to  rnv  cot, 
Since  my  lover  attends  not  to  me; 

Forlorn  and  deserted's  my  lot, 
Adieu,  both  to  him  and  to  thee- 


296  THE    AMERICAN 


FAREWELL,  MY  LUTE. 

Farewell !  my  lute,  whose  gentle  tone 
Hath  cheer'd  my  heart  for  many  a  day ; 
Companion  lov'd,  whose  cho/ds  had  pow'r 
To  chase  my  gloom  and  grief  away. 
Whate'er  my  lot,  where'er  I  roam, 
Fond  thoughts  of  thee  will  often  come, 
And  I  shall  sigh  for  that  dear  home, 
Where  thou  hang'st  mute,  sweet  lute ! 
Farewell !  my  lute,  &c. 

Farewell !  my  love,  whose  soothing  voice 
Broke  like  soft  music  on  mine  ear ; 
Whose  heart  to  mine  more  warmly  clung 
When  all  around  grew  dark  and  drear. 
Where'er  I  go,  whate'er  my  lot, 
No  word  of  thine  can  be  forgot : 
Oft  shall  I  sigh  for  that  sweet  spot, 
Where  thou  dost  rove,  dear  love ! 
Farewell,  my  love !  farewell,  my  lute ! 
These  eyes  are  dry,  these  lips  are  mute : 
Oh !  language  fades  before  love's  spell  ,* 
My  lute!  my  love!  farewell,  farewell! 


'TIS  MIDNIGHT. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  sweet  melodies 

Are  wafted  o'er  the  tide, 
From  one  of  those  bright  pleasure  barques 
That  on  the  waters  glide. 
Gay  lords  are  there, 
And  ladies  fair, 
Along  the  ship. 
They  lightly  trip ; 
I  envy  not  their  revelry 
While  roving  by  thy  side. 


singer's  own  BOOK.  2G7 


Behold  the  moonbeams  darting  through 

The  green  transparent  trees; 
And  hear  the  light  leaves  answering 
The  whispers  of  the  breeze : 
"When  winter  throws 
Her  chilling  snows 
O'er  all  the  earth, 
Then  give  me  mirth  : 
But  oh!  the  dance  was  never  meant 
For  summer  nights  like  these. 

MY  HEART  IS  SAIR  FOR  SOMEBODY 

My  heart  is  sair.  I  dare  na  tell, 

My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody ; 
I  could  wake  a  winter  night, 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody. 
Oh,  hon!  for  somebody, 
Oh,  hey!  for  somebody, 
I  wad  range  the  world  around 
For  the  sake  o'  somebody. 

Ye  powers  that  smile  on  virtuous  love, 

O  sweetly  smile  on  somebody ; 
Frae  ilka  danger  keep  him  free, 
And  send  me  safe  my  somebody. 
Oh,  hon!  for  somebody! 
Oh,  hey!  for  somebody ! 
I  wad  gae — where  wad  I  not  ? 
For  Fhe  sake  o'  somebody. 

GREEN  GROW  THE  RUSHES,  O! 

There's  nought  but  care  on  every  nan', 

In  every  hour  that  passes,  O! 
What  signifies  the  life  o'  man, 
An'  'twere  na  for  the  lasses,  O! 
Green  grow  the  rushes,  O! 
Green  grow  the  rushes,  O! 
The  sweetest  hours  that  e'er  I  spend 
Are  spent  amang  the  lasses,  O ! 


293  THE  AMERICAN 


The  warly  race  may  riches  chase, 
An'  riches  still  may  fly  thein,  O! 

An'  tho'  at  last  thcv  catch  them  fast, 
Their  hearts  can  ne'er  enjoy  them,  0! 

Green  grow  the  rushes,  &c 

Gie  me  a  cannie  hour  at  e'en, 

My  arms  about  my  dearie,  O! 
Then  warlv  cares  and  warly  men 

May  a'  gae  tapsaheerie,  O! 

Green  grow  the  rushes,  &c 

For  you  sae  douse!  ye  sneer  at  this, 
Ye're  nought  but  senseless  asses,  O 

The  wisest  man  the  warl'  e'er  saw, 
He  dearly  loved  the  lasses.  O! 

Green  grow  the  rushes,  &c 

Auld  nature  swears,  the  lovely  dears 
Her  noblest  work  she  classes,  O! 

Her  'prentice  han'  she  tried  on  man, 
An'  then  she  made  the  lasses,  O! 

Green  grow  the  rushes,  &<% 

OLD  TOWLER. 

Bright  chanticleer  proclaims  the  dawn, 

And  spangles  deck  the  thorn; 
The  kwing  herds  now  quit  the  lawn, 

The  lark  springs  from  the  corn. 
Dogs,  huntsmen,  round  the  window  throng1, 

Fle°t  Towler  leads  the  cry; 
Arise!  the  burden  of  their  song — 
This  day  a  stag  must  die ! 
With  a  hey  ho  chevey! 
Hark  forward,  hark  forward,  tantivy. 
Hark,  hark,  tantivy! 
This  day  a  stag  must  die. 

The  cordial  takes  its  merrv  round, 

The  laugh  and  joke  prevail; 
The  huntsman  blows  a  jovial  sound, 

The  dogs  snuff  up  the  gale^ 


ringer's  own  book.  209 

Tho  upland  winds  they  sweep  along, 
O'er  fields,  through  brakes  thoy  fly; 

Tho  game  is  roused,  too  true  the  song — 
This  day  a  stag  must  die ! 

With  a  hey  ho,  &c. 

Poor  stag!  the  dogs  thy  haunches  gore, 

The  tears  run  down  thy  face ; 
The  huntsman's  pleasure  is  no  more ; 

His  joys  were  in  the  chase. 
Alike — the  sportsmen  of  the  town, 

The  virgin  game  in  view, 
Are  full  content  to  run  them  down, 

Then  they  in  turn  pursue. 

With  a  hey  ho,  &c. 


THE  IRISHMAN. 

The  savage  loves  his  native  shore, 

Though  rude  the  soil  and  chill  the  air, 
Then  well  may  Erin's  sons  adore 

Their  isle,  which  nature  formed  so  fair; 
What  flood  reflects  the  shore  so  sweet, 

As  gloriou3  Boyne  or  pastoral  Ban, 
Or  who  a  friend  or  foe  can  meet, 

So  gen'rous  as  an  Irishman  ? 

His  hand  is  rash,  his  heart  is  warm, 

And  principle  is  still  his  guide, 
None  more  regrets  a  deed  of  harm, 

And  none  forgives  with  nobler  pride; 
He  may  be  duped,  but  wont  be  dared; 

Fitter  to  practise  than  to  plan, 
He  ablv  earns  his  poor  reward, 

And  spends  it  like  an  Irishman. 

If  stransro  and  poor,  for  you  he'll  pay, 
And  guide  you  where  you  safe  may  be; 

Are  you  his  comrade?  while  you  stay 
ills  cottage  holds  a  jubilee; 


300  THE  AMERICAN 

His  inmost  soul  he  will  unlock, 
And  if  he  may  your  merits  scan, 

Your  confidence  he  scorns  to  mock, 
For  faithful  is  an  Irishman. 

By  honour  bound,  in  wo  or  weal, 

Whate'er  she  bids  he  dares  to  do, 
Try  him  with  gold,  it  wont  prevail, 

But  e'en  in  fire  you'll  find  him  true ; 
He  seeks  not  safety — let  his  post 

Be  where  'tis  oft,  in  battle's  van; 
And  if  the  field  of  fame  be  lost, 

'Twill  ne'er  be  by  an  Irishman. 

Erin,  lov'd  land,  from  age  to  age, 

Be  thou  more  great,  more  fam'd  and  free , 
May  peace  be  thine,  or  shouldst  thou  wage 

Defensive  wars,  cheap  victory; 
May  plenty  flow  from  every  field, 

And  gentle  breezes  sweetly  fan ; 
May  cheerful  smiles  serenely  gild 

The  breast  of  every  Irishman. 

MARMION. 

The  war  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 

Now  doubly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale 

And  'Stanley!'  was  the  cry: 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye : 
With  dying  hand  above  his  head, 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  'Victory! 
Charge,  Chester,  charge !  On,  Stanley,  on, 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion. 

COME,  FOLLOW  ME. 

Come,  follow,  follow  me, 

Ye  fairy  elves  that  be ; 

And  lightly  tripping  o'er  the  green. 

Come,  follow  Mab  your  queen. 


singer's  own  book.  301 


OH!  DO  NOT  BID  ME  TO  FORGET. 

Oh !  do  not  bid  me  to  forget 

What  once  I  loved  so  well, 
For  I  have  ever,  ever  said, 

My  heart  shall  not  rebel. 
'Twas  on  that  soot  beside  the  stream, 

Where  last  we  fondly  met, 
I  promised  him,  whate'er  my  doom, 

I  never  would  forget 

He  loved  me  when  we  parted  last, 

I  know  he  loved  me  true, 
For  falsehood  never  seem'd  so  fair, 

And  wsll  his  looks  I  knew : 
For  when  he  spoke  his  eye  was  fill'd, 

His  cheek  with  tears  was  wet, 
His  latest  words,  his  last  farewell, 

I  never  can  forget. 

THE  TOPSAILS  SHIVER  IN  THE  WIND 

The  topsails  shiver  in  the  wind, 

Our  ship  she's  cast  to  sea, 
But  yet  my  soul,  my  heart,  my  mind, 

Are,  Mary,  moored  with  thee ; 
For  though  thy  sailor's  bound  afar, 
Still  love  shall  be  my  leading  star. 

Should  landsmen  flatter  when  we've  sailed, 

Oh  doubt  their  artful  Tales, 
No  gallant  sailor  ever  failed, 

If  love  breathed  constant  gales. 
Thou  art  the  compass  of  my  soul, 
Which  steers  my  heart  from  pole  to  pole 

These  are  our  cares:  but  if  you're  kind, 

We'll  scorn  the  dashing  main, 
The  rocks,  the  billows,  and  the  wind, 

Till  we  return  again. 
Now  freedom's  glcry  rest  with  you, 
Our  sails  are  full,  sweet  girl,  ddieu ' 


302  THE  AMERICAN 


THE  MARINER'S  CHILD  TO  HIS  MOTHER. 

Oh !  weep  no  more,  sweet  mother, 

Oh !  weep  no  more  to-night, 
And  only  watch  the  sea,  mother, 

Beneath  the  morning  light, 
Our  beautiful  Madonna 

Will  mark  how  you  have  wept, 
The  prayers  of  early  morning, 

The  vigils  you  have  kept. 

She  will  guide  his  stately  vessel, 

Though  the  sea  be  dark  and  drear; 
Another  week  of  sunshino, 

My  father  will  be  here. 
I'll  watch  wilh  thee,  sweet  motfier, 

But  the  stars  fade  from  my  sight: 
Come,  come  and  sleep,  dear  mother, 

Oh !  ween  no  more  to-night. 

SOFT  GLIDES  THE  SEA. 

Sung  by  Miss  Hughes. 

Soft  glides  the  sea, 
Bounding  a-nd  free, 
Dance  the  blue  waves,  as  they  rush  to  the  shore 
O'er  vale  and  height 
Gleams  the  moon  bright, 
Gaily  the  Mariner  plies  the  swift  oar, 
Singing  awhile,  'Ere  the  sun  lights  the  main, 
Land  of  my  birth,  I  shall  greet  thee  again.' 

Night  wears  away; 
Sullen  and  grey 
Frowns  the  dark  sea ;  o'er  the  wild  restless  deep 
Lightning's  red  flash, 
Thunder's  loud  crash 
Now  quiver  and  peal — '  Go,  Mariner,  weep ; 
Haply  I  deem,  though  the  sun  lights  the  main, 
[ts  rays  to  thy  land  shall  not  greet  thee  again/ 


singer's  own  book.  303 


Tempests  are  fled ; 
Morning  hath  shed 

Light  from  her  rye  and  balm  from  her  breath  , 
All  things  rejoice ; 
Heard  is  the  voice 
Of  the  Mariner  now  singing  praises  of  home. 
The  ship's  gallant  prow  presses  on  through  the  main, 
And  he  treads  on  the  land  of  his  lathers  again 


*C3V 


SLEEP,  GENTLE  LADY. 

A  Serenade. 

Sleep,  gentle  lady,  flowers  are  closing, 

The  very  winds  and  waves  reposing; 

O,  let  our  soft  and  soothing  numbers 

Wrap  thee  in  sweeter,  softer  slumbers! 

Peace  be  around  thee,  lady  bright, 

Sleep,  while  we  sing — good  night,  good  night  I 

THE  SABBATH  BRIDAL. 

A  Dialogue. 

'Whither  I  pray,  whither  I  pray, 

Pretty  young  maiden,  wouldst  thou  stray? 

Whither  I  pray,  whither  I  pray, 

Pretty  young  maiden,  wouldst  thou  stray?* 

'Sir,  1  am  waiting  the  sabbath-bell, 

For  one,  long  known  and  loved  full  well, 

Who  promised  that,  on  this  sacred  day, 

He  would  bear  me  a  bride  to  his  bower  away.' 

'He  sends  me  to  thee  with  this  willow  wreath, 
To  recall  the  fond  words  he  used  to  breathe. 
He  will  wed  one  as  fair  as  thou  to-day ; 
And  he  rives  me  to  woo  thee,  if  so  J  may/ 
That  willow  wreath  I  need  not  wear: 
For  this  (]o  th>  tell-tale  eyes  declare — 
Let  him  wed  his  fair  maid,  and  to  her  be  tru 
So  now  thou  may's!  woo  n:e,  and  win  me  too-' 


304  THE    AMERICAN 


He  has  doffed  his  disguise — he  has  changed  his  tone: 
By  the  pretty  young  maiden  he  was  known. 
They  have  knelt  at  the  altar — pronounced  their  vow, 
&nd  the  bells  ring  so  merrily  for  them  now. 


THE  WOODBINE  BOWER. 

Oh !  come  to  me  at  this  soft  hour, 

When  flowers  inhale  the  balmy  dew, 
Oh,  meet  me  in  the  woodbine  bower, 

That  I  have  fondly  wreath'd  lor  you. 
The  moon,  that  with  her  silver  light, 

Now  brightly  beams  on  tow'r  and  tree  ,* 
But  O !  those  eyes  are  far  more  bright, 

Which  fondly,  fondly  gaze  on  me! 
Oh !  come  to  me,  &c. 

Dear  maid,  the  breezes  murmur  soft, 

Around  the  grove  and  hawthorn  tree, 
Whose  wide  and  leafy  branches  oft 

Have  safely  shaded  thee  and  me, 
And  now,  reclin'd  beneath  its  bongh, 

By  yonder  vault  of  azure  hue, 
And  its  bright  orb,  I  swear  my  vows 

Shall  never,  never  prove  untrue. 
Then  come  to  me,  &c. 


INDEX 

OF 

TITLES  AND   FIRST  LINES. 


Absence 22 

A  damsel  stood  to  watch  the  fight 101 

Adieu  !  adieu!  my  native  shore 71 

Adieu,  adieu,  my  only  life 184 

A  fond  youth  serenaded  his  love 209 

A  garden  formed  by  nature  wild 131 

A  heart  that  once  has  loved  like  mine 101 

A  highland  laddie  heard  of  war 185 

Ah  no  !  Dearest,  no 197 

Ah !  say  not  thou  art  lonely  now 214 

Ah  !  what  is  the  bosom's  commotion 125 

Ah  !  where  can  fly  my  soul's  true  love 185 

Alice  Gray 42 

Alknomook 218 

Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning t .  190 

All  in  the  downs  the  fleet  was  moored 149 

All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  over  the  Border 113 

Alone  by  the  Schuylkill  a  wanderer  roved 13 

A  maiden  there  was  who  was  silly  and  shy 200 

America,  Commerce,  and  Freedom 280 

American  Star 238 

And  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true 194 

And  has  she  then  failed  in  her  truth 197 

And  ye  shall  walk  in  silk  attire 70 

Anna  of  Conway 198 

An  old  man  would  be  wooing 183 

Annot  Lyle G4 

Annot  Lyle's  Song 253 

Arab  Steed 33 

Araby's  Daughter 130 

Arouse,  arouse,  ilk  kilted  clan 128 

As  I  walked  last  night 90 

Ask  not  why  it  is  I  love  thee 217 

A  soldier's  the  lad  for  my  notion 164 

u 


SQ6  i>;dex  of  titles 

A  soldier's  the  lad  I  adore 129 

As  pensive  one  night  in  my  garret  I  sate 282 

As  sunlight  falls  on  crystal  streams 277 

As  the  sun  climbs  o'er  the  hills 138 

At  dawn,  Aurora  gaily  breaks 44 

Auld  Lang  Syne 161,  240 

Auld  Robin  Gray 253 

Away,  away,  my  Barb  and  I 183 

Away  !  away,  to  the  mountain's  brow 127 

Away,  my  bounding  steed,  away 85 

Away !  my  gallant  page,  away 40 

Away  with  melancholy 32 

Bavarian  Broom  Girl 120 

Bav  of  Biscay,  0 154 

Beautiful  Maid 193 

Begone,  dull  care,  1  pray  thee  begone 239 

Behave  yoursel'  before  folk 200 

Behold  !  how  brightly  breaks  the  morning 39 

Behold!  in  his  soft  expressive  face 147 

Behold  me,  sung  Hassan,  the  fearless  and  free—  .►.      9 

Be  mine,  dear  maid,  this  faithful  heart 89 

Bid  me  discourse,  I  will  enchant  thine  ear 201 

Billy,  let's  thank  Providence  that  you  and  1 247 

Birks  of  Aberfeldy 199 

Black-eyed  Susan 149 

Blow,  warder,  blow  thy  sounding  horn 132 

Blue-eyed  Mary 191 

Bold  and  true 215 

Bonnie  Doon 170 

Bonnie  lassie,  will  ye  go,  will  ye  go 199 

Bonnie  Wee  Wife 193 

Bonnv  Boat 81 

Bonny  Lad 281 

Bonny  Sleigh 237 

Boys  of  Switzerland 153 

Braes  of  Balquhither 246 

Bridal  Star 280 

Bride 52 

Bright  are  the  beams  of  the  morning  sky 75 

Bright,  bright  shore 294 

Bright  chanticleer  proclaims  the  dawn 298 

Brignal  banks »» 11? 


AND    FIRST    LINES.  307 


Bring  flowen,  young  flowers,  to  the  festal 229 

Bring  me,  boy,  a  flowing  bowl 249 

Broken  Flower 77 

Bruce*!  Address 99 

Backet 

Burial  of  Sir  Thomas  Moore 211) 

Buy  my  Roses (J2 

Canadian  Boat  Song 130 

Captain  Bell 223 

Carrier  Pigeon 162 

Cease,  rude  Boreas,  blustering  railer 47 

Chase  that  Starting  Tear  away 118 

Cherry  ripe,  ripe,  I  cry 93 

Chundah's  Song 101 

Columbia  !  Columbia  !  to  glory  arise 203 

Come,  arouse  thee,  arouse  thee,  my  brave 55 

Come,  buy  my  little  roses  red 92 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away 118 

Come  dwell  with  me , 44 

Come,  follow,  follow  me 300 

Come  haste  thee,  come  haste  thee,  my  bonny 55 

Come  hither !  come  hither  !  the  silver  light 202 

Come  hither,  thou  beautiful  rover 1G2 

Come,  listen  to  my  song,  love 108 

Come,  love,  to  me 86 

Come,  my  gallant  soldier,  come 130 

Come  over  the  mountains,  my  bonny  Swiss 91 

Come,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer. . .    29 

Come,  strike  the  bold  anthem,  the  war-dogs 238 

Come,  tell  me,  blue-eyed  s-tranger 1151 

Come  to  the  sun -set  tree 271 

Comin'  through  the  Rye 10 

Convent  Bell. 144 

Croos-keen  Lawn • 156 

Cupids  Visit 212 

Dame  Durden  kept  five  serving  girls 250 

Dame  Na1  me  day,  in  a  comical  mood 95 

Dashing  White  Serjeant 114 

Day  has  gonedowu;  on  the  Baltic's  bright 178 

Daylight  fades 276 


303  INDEX   OF   TITLES 

Dear  harp  of  my  country  !  in  darkness  I  found  thee  255 

Dear  Nati  ve  Home 203 

Deep  in  a  vale  a  cottage  stood 220 

Denounced 232 

Deserted  by  declining  day 202 

Deserted  by  the  waning  moon 152 

Diavolo 8? 

Dinna  forget,  laddie  !  dinna  forget 249 

Downhill  of  Life 186 

Draw  the  sword,  Scotland ]50 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes 247 

Dulce  Domum 203 

Echo  Dur t G6 

Eleanor  Grey , 174 

Encompassed  in  an  angers  frame 204 

Ere  around  the  huge  oak,  that  o'ershadows 182 

Ere  bright  Rosina  met  my  eyes 205 

Even  as  the  sun — the  sun  wi1  purple. 97 

Evening  Hymn  of  the  Vintagers 266 

Evening  Song  of  the  Tyrolese  Peasants 271 

Exile  of  Erin 122 

Faint  and  wearily  the  way-worn  traveller 162 

Faintly  as  tolls  the  evening  chime 136 

Fairest  of  the  Fair 141 

Fair  Rose  has  charms  alone  for  me 252 

Fall  not  in  love,  dear  girls,  beware 135 

Fare-tbee-well,  and  if  for  ever 182 

Fare-thee-well,  thou  lovely  one 38 

Farewell,  farewell  to  thee,  Araby's  daughter 130 

Farewell !  my  lute,  whose  gentle  tone 296 

Farewell,  thou  fair  day,  thou  green  earth 205 

Farewell  to  my  harp 255 

Far,  far  at  sea 268 

Far,  far  o'er  hill  and  dell 144 

Farmer's  Daughter 243 

Far  o'er  the  w  -we,  as  morn's  soft  beam 203 

Fiddler  Boy 225 

Fishermen's  Glee 176 

Flowing  Bowl 249 

Flow  on,  thou  shining  river 137 

Fly  away,  pretty  moth,  to  the  sliade 126 

Follow,  follow  through  the  sea 138 


AND    FIRST    LINES.  309 

Friends  depart,  and  memory  takes  them 37 

Friend  in  the  battle  day 1,1 

Forget  thee  !— in  my  banquet  hall 40 

From  TeutchlandJ  come,  with  my  light 120 

From  the  white-blossomed  sloe,  my  dear 221 

Gaily  sounds  the  Castanet 159 

Gaily  the  Troubadour  touched  his  guitar 217 

Galley  Slave 171 

Gascon  Vespers 76 

Gentle  Zitella,  whither  away 103 

Gin  a  body  meet  a  body JO 

Gi\  e  me,  my  love,  before  we  part °3 

Give  me,  my  love,  the  roseate  flower 151 

Glide  on,  my  bark 77 

Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame 80 

Good  Night 93 

Good  night,  good  night,  my  dearest    124 

Go  patter  to  lubbers" and  swabs,  do  ye  see  ...    2(i4 

Green  grow  the  Rushes,  0 2J? 

Had  I  a  heart  for  falsehood  framed 208 

Hail  Columbia  !  happy  land 34 

Hail,  great  republic  of  the  world 234 

Hail  to  the  chief  who  in  triumph  advances 121 

Hame  frae  the  wars,  broken,  friendless 20b' 

Happy  Swiss  Boy 01 

Hark  !  hark !  through  the  wild  wood 2'.'3 

Hark  !  o'er  the  wave,  the  north  blast  is  howling. . .  288 

Hark  !  the  bonny  Christ  Church  bells 240 

Hark!  the  merry  peal  is  ringing 76 

Hark!  the  muffled  drum  sounds  the  last 147 

Hark,  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing 279 

Harper's  Sons; 58 

Hassan  the  Brave 9 

He  cojr.es  from  the  wars,  from  the  red  field 158 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain 207 

He  leap'd  into  his  boat 104 

Henry's  Cottage  maid 189 

Here,  a  sheer  hulk,  lies  poor  Tom  Bowling  ........  1G5 

Here  awa,  there  aw  a,  wandering  Willie 208 

Her  eyes  with  her  pale  hand  are  shaded 181 

Here,  fai  away  from  wealth  and  pow'r 269 


310  INDEX   OF   TITLES 

Here  mark  a  poor  desolate  maid 2u£ 

Here's  a  Health,  Bonnie  Scotland,  to  thee 84 

Here's  a  health  to  all  good  lasses 2(;0 

Here's  the  hotile  she  loved  so  much 206 

Here's  the  bower  she  loved  so  much 31 

Here  we  meet,  too  soon  to  part 11 J 

He  strikes  the  minstrel  lyre  again 43 

He  was  a  chief  of  low  degree 22(5 

Hey  the  Bonnie  Breast  Knots 58 

Highland  Mary 8 

His  white  plume  o'er  the  mountain  streams 280 

Home,  Sweet  Home 157 

Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense 7J 

Hours  there  were  to  memory  dearer 140 

How  blest  the  life  a  sailor  leads 280 

How  dear  to  ihis  heart  are  the  scenes  of  my 268 

How  sweet  at  close  of  silent  eve 50 

How  sweet  the  fragrant,  breath  of  May 289 

Hunter's  Horn 139 

Huntsmen's  Song  and  Chorus 73 

Hurra h  for  the  Emerald  Isle 279 

I  am  a  friar  of  orders  gray 209 

I  am  Marian  Ramsay,  from  Scotland  I  cone 98 

I  dream'd  that  my  love 288 

I'd  be  a  butterfly,  bora  in  a  bower 275 

If  I  had  a  beau 114 

If  silent  looks  betoken CO 

If  you  ask,  what  is  love 179 

I  give  thee  all,  I  can  no  more 119 

I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here 213 

I  have  plucked  the  sweetest  flower 173 

I  hear  thy  shell  resound 294 

I  knew  by  the  smell  which  so  gratefully  rose 261 

I  know  a  bank  whereon  the  wild  thyme 165 

i  know  Who  289 

I  love  m v  Jean 65 

I'll  say  Yes.  when  I'm  ask'd „ . . .  266 

I'll  watch  for  thee  from  my  lonely  bower 164 

I  love  the  viilage  church 258 

I'm  bending  o'er  a  stranger's  hearth 244 

Vm  wearing  awa,  Jean .  135 


AND    FIRST    LIHSS.  311 

fn  Derrv  down  dale  when  I  u  anted  I  mate '.V) 

Ingle  Bide 115 

In  Home  [  find  S             175 

In  the  downhill  of  life  wh  in  I  find  I'm 1^6 

Invincibles 173 

Irishman 299 

Isabel 1 J4 

I  see  them  on  their  \\  hiding  way 89 

I  should  very  much  like  to  know 90 

I  sing  the  maid  of  Lodi 274 

Is  there  a  heart  thai  never  loved 153 

Is  there  a  man  that  n   \  •  r  Bighed 21J 

It  is  not  where  bright  eye*  are  brightest 197 

Its  rare  to  see  t  he  morning  bleeze 11J 

It  was  at  twilight's  dusky  hour 25(1 

I've  gazed  upon  thy  sunny  smile 168 

I've  no  sheep  on  the  mountain,  nor  boat 10 

I  wont  be  a  \un 271 

Jessie,  the  flow'r  o'  Dumblane 134 

Jockey  to  the  Fair 277 

John  Anderson,  my  jo,  John 139 

Kate  B  32 

Kate  Ken  me]    Answer  to) V  194 

Kathleen  O 7  24o 

Ladybird.  ladybird,  fly  away  home 216 

Lady,  sing  no  more ; 106 

Landing  of  Royal  Charlie 7  J 

Land  of  Love  and  Liberty 234 

Land  o'  the  Leal '. 135 

La  Rose  d' Amour 70 

Lass  o'  Gowrie 248 

Lass  wi'  th  i  b  nny  blue  e'en 07 

st  Bugle ". 147 

Last  Shilling 289 

Last  Whistle 170 

Lavender  Girl 138 

Lay  of  the  Minstrel  Kniiht 2 

Lay  of  the  Wandering  Arab 1 

Let  him  \  rhs  in  sadness  here 100 

Ltt  the  banner  of  France  be  unfurled 79 

Let  Uie  epicure  boast  the  delight  of  his  soul 2H 


312  INDEX   OF   TITLES 

Let  the  farmer  praise  his  grounds 156 

Let  us  go,  lassie,  go 246 

Let  us  haste  to  Kelvin  grove,  bonnie  lassie,  0 112 

Life 133 

Life  let  us  cherish 30 

Life's  like  a  ship  in  constant  motion 286 

Light  Guitar 86 

Light  Guitar  (Answer  to) 87 

Light  House 259 

Lily  of  France 79 

Lily  of  Nithsdale 235 

Living  echo,  bird  of  eve 95 

Look  on  that  brow — a  playful  smile 106 

Loud  roared  the  dreadful  thunder 154 

Love  among  the  Roses 187 

Love  and  the  sun-dial 27 

Love  from  the  Heart 100 

Love  has  Eyes. — Love's  blind,  they  say 152 

Love  in  the  Heart 21S 

Lover's  Mistake 269 

Love's  Ritornella 103 

Love  thee,  dearest,  love  thee 41 

Love  wakes  and  weeps 210 

Love,  wand'ring  through  the  rain 212 

Maidens  young  and  tender 2D2 

Maid  of  Llanwellyn 10 

Maid  of  Lodi 274 

Maltese  Boatman's  Song 87 

Man  the  Brother  of  Man 211 

March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale 113 

March  to  the  battle  field 123 

Marian  Ramsay 98 

Mariner's  Bride 283 

Mariner's  Child  to  His  Mother 302 

Marmion 300 

Marseilles  Hymn  of  Liberty 1G2 

Mellow  Horn 44 

Meeting  of  the  Waters 166 

Meet  me  by  moonlight  alone 156 

Meet  me  to-night  in  the  path  which  lies 181 

Mermaid  Song ]33 

Merrily  Dance  round  the  Missletoe  Tree 202 


AND    FIRST   LINES.  313 


Merrily  every  bosom  boundeth 241 

Iflerrilj  ,  merrily,  boandfl  the  bark 220 

Merry  ."Mountain  Horn 130 

Men  \  Mountain  Pipe S 

Mid  pleasure  and  palaces 156 

Mild  Segar 193 

Minstrel  Boy lv> 

Minstrels  Return  from  the  War 63 

Minute  Gun  at  Sea 1(50 

Miseries  of  Saturday ]£9 

Money  is  your  Friend 2U0 

Moon-lit  Bower 2 

Morgiana 125 

Mother 106 

Motherless 2 

Mountaineer's  Return 285 

Mountain  Shepherd's  Lay 224 

Mr.  Orator  Purl* had  two  tones  in  his  voice 53 

Muleteer 232 

Mulete  r*a  Return 2 

Musical  Wife S&6 

My  bark  is  upon  the  deep,  love , .     28 

My  boat  is  on  the  shore To" 

My  bonnie  lass,  now  turn  to  me 113 

My  cottage  and  vine 2 

My  dark  hair'd  girl 254 

My  early  love  !  I'll  think  on  thee 213 

My  Friend  and  Pitcher 45 

My  Ih  art  and  Lute 119 

My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody 2(J7 

My  Heart  is  Thine 217 

My  heart  with  love  is  beating 160 

My  Highland  home,  where  tempests  blow 221 

My  lovely  brunette,  to  your  Spanish  guitar 2D1 

My  love,  still  I  think  that  I  see  her  once 245 

My  Luve'S  like  a  Red,  Red  Rose  ....    59 

My  Native  Land,  Good  Night 71 

My  siste"  dear,  o'er  this  rude  cheek 67 

My  wife    s  very  musical 286 

Nae  Luck  a  ^out  the  House 104 

Nay,  ask  me   sot ;  the  moon  lit-bower 283 

Neva  Boatmen  e  Song 276 

No  more  by  sorrow  chased,  my  heart 232 

No!  No 46 


314  INBEX   OF   TITLES 

Not  a  drum  was  heard,  not  a  funeral  note 219 

Nothing  at  All 30 

Nothing  True  but  Heaven 168 

Now  at  moonlight's  fairy  hour 105 

Now  hope  and  fear  my  bosom  rending 66 

Now  ia  it  not  a  pity  such  a  pretty  girl  as  1 271 

Oberon's  Coronation 2j)5 

O  Bold  and  True 215 

O  Brignal  banks  are  wild  and  fair 117 

Och,  love  is  the  soul  of  a  nate  Irishman 290 

Of  a'  the  airs  the  wind  can  blaw 65 

Of  friendship  I've  heard  much  talk 260 

Oft  in  the  stilly  night 29 

Oh  !  after  many  roving  years ■. 50 

Oh  !  am  I  then  remembered  still 94 

Oh  !  blame  not  the  bard 26 

Oh  !  come  to  me  at  this  soft  hour 304 

Oh,  come  with  me,  T'll  row  thee  o'er 177 

Oh  !  did  you  ne'er  hear  of  Kate  Kearney 32 

Oh !  do  not  bid  me  to  forget 301 

Oh  give  me  but  my  Arab  steed 33 

Oh  !  lady,  come  to  the  Indies  with  me 223 

Oh,  lady  fair,  where  art  thou  roaming 146 

Oh!  leave  me  not,  my  only  one 61 

Oh!  leave  the  gay  and  festive  scene 86 

Oh,  leave  the  noisy,  smoky  scene 103 

Oh!  list  to  my  lay,  said  a  minstrel  gray 223 

Oh,  long  shall  I  think  of  the  miller's  fair 174 

Oh  !  Merry  Row  the  Bonnie  Bark 63 

Oh !  no,  I'll  never  mention  him Ill 

Oh,  no,  1  never  mentioned  it 231 

Oh!  not  when  hopes  are  brightest 2*24 

Oh,  Pilot!  'tis  a  fearful  night t3 

Oh!  Rest  thee.  Babe 74 

Oh  !  roam  with  me  o^er  distant  hills 224 

Oh  !  say,  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light • ...  7 

Oh  !  slumber,  my  darling \  i 

Oh !  sweetly  the  noon-day  is  ending 86 

Oh  swiftly  glides  tbe  bonnv  boat 81 

Oh!  take  her,  but  be  faithful  still 53 

Oh  tell  me  how  from  love  to  fly 172 

Oh!  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light 126 

Oh,  thi  ii  k  on  my  fate !  once  I  freedom 171 

Oh !  thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear 128 


AND    FIRST    LINES.  3\ij 

Dli!  'tis  love,  'tis  love,  'tis  love 145 

()li!  wear  it  on  thy  breast,  my  love 77 

Oh !  wop  no  more,  sweet  mother 302 

Oh!  what  can  compare  to  the  huntsman's 73 

Oh  !  why  should  the  girl  of  my  soul 157 

Oh  years  have  flow  n  since  first  we  met 1G1 

Oh  !  yes,  1  have  seen  this  Kate  Kearney 104 

O  lassie,  art  thou  sleeping  yet 233 

Old  oak  Tree 284 

Old  Towler 298 

O  listen,  listen  to  the  voice  of  Love 230 

O,  my  hive's  like  a  red,  rml  rose 59 

O  Nannie,  wilt  thou  gang  wi'  me 141 

One  little  word  before  we  part 2C7 

One  morn  when  bright  Phoebus  was  low 295 

One  night  came  on  a  hurricane,  the  sea  was 247 

O  never  Fall  in  Love 135 

On  this  cold  flinty  rock 254 

On  yonder  rock  reclining 83 

Orator  Tuff 53 

Origin  of  Old  Bachelors 95 

Orynthia,  n:y  beloved,  I  call  in  vain 2G7 

O  saw  ye  the  lass  wi1  tin;  bonnie  hluc  een 67 

O!  say  not  woman's  love  is  bought G9 

O!  sweet  is  twilight's  hour 283 

O  swiftly  glides  the  bonny  sleigh  237 

O  tell  na  me  o'  wind  and  rain 233 

Our  bugles  sang  truce,  for  the  night  cloud 179 

Our  cot  was  sheltered  by  a  wood . . .  153 

Our  country  is  our  ship,  dye  see 270 

Pensez  a  Moi,  ma  Chore  Amie 5? 

Phantom  Ship •     53 

Piljrrim  of  Love 2G7 

Pilot -.     83 

Pirate's  Son? .' 223 

Plain  Gold  Ring 22G 

Ply  the  oar,  brother,  and  speed  the  boat 176 

Poor  Jack  264 

Prav,  Goody,  please  to  moderate  the 97 

Pretty  Mocking  Bird 95 

Red-Cross  Knight 132 

Remember  the  glories  of  Brian  the  brave 177 

Rest,  Warrior,  Rest 158 

Rise,  Gentle  Moon 178 


316  INDEX   OF   TITLES 

Rise,  Gentle  Moon  (Answer  to) 273 

Rise,  warrior,  rise,  the  morn  has  shed 273 

Romaika 57 

Rosabel 92 

Rose  of  Allandale 51 

Rose  of  Peace 49 

Roy's  wife  of  Aldivalloch 1£0 

Sabbath  Bridal , 303 

Sailor's  Return 22G 

Sailor's  Tear 105 

Say,  my  heart,  whence  comes  thine  anguish 261 

Say,  what  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  brave 174 

Scots,  wha  hac  wi'  Wallace  bled 99 

Secret  of  Singing 106 

See,  brothers,  see,  how  the  night  comes  on 87 

Seek  not  with  gold  or  glittering  gem 35 

See  !  the  conquering  hero  comes 216 

Serenade 303 

She  chanted  her  lover  to  come 295 

She  is  a  winsome  wee  thing 198 

She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young 169 

She  never  blamed  him,  never 109 

She's  all  my  fancy  painted  her 42 

She's  gane  to  dwall  in  heaven,  my  lassie 235 

She  sung,  but  afraid  of  her  own  sweet  voice 211 

She  walks  in  beauty,  like  the  night 74 

She  weeps  o'er  the  trinkets  he  gave  her 181 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 240 

Should  he  upbraid,  I'll  own  that  he  prevail 272 

Should  these  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  thee 119 

Sigh  not  for  love,  if  you  wish  not  to  know 43 

Since  then  I'm  doomed  this  sad  reverse 145 

Sleep,  gentle  lady,  flowers  are  closing 303 

Slowly  wears  the  day,  love ,  .  115 

Smile  again,  my  bonnie  lassie 114 

Soft  glides  the  sea 302 

Soldier's  Adieu 184 

Soldier's  Dream 179 

Soldier's  Gratitude 92 

Soldier's  last  Sigh 82 

Soldier's  Tear ^ 110 

Song  of  Death « 205 

Song  of  the  Skaters 258 

Song  to  the  Ladybird 216 


AND    FIRST    LINES.  317 

Mi  as  the  sun  his  early  ray 222 

\\  ijnulv  w  e  met,  and  so  fondly  we  parted 2G 

Spri^  of  Shillelah 290 

Stai  Spangled  Banner 7 

Stcrin 47 

Bummer  gone  and  past 53 

Sun  that  lights  the  rosea 109 

Sweets  of  Liberty 215 

Swift  from  the  covert  the  merry  pack  fled 13'.) 

Swiss  Boy 55 

Swiss  Hunter's  Welcome  Home 102 

Swiss  Maid 55 

1  ake  heed  !  whisper  low 39 

Teach,  oh  !  teach  me  to  forget 37 

Tell  me,  "nave  you  seen  a  toy 70 

The  Anchor's  Weighed 272 

The  bridegroom  at  the  altar's  side 104 

The  Campbells  are  comin,  O  ho,  O  ho 1G0 

The  chough  and  crow  to  roost  are  gone 192 

The  de'il  cam'  fiddlin  through  the  town 191 

The  downy  cheek  so  red,  so  fair 1G9 

The  elf  king  is  to  be  crowned  to-night 295 

The  fiddler's  boy  to  the  fair  is  gone 225 

The  Golden  Girl 02 

The  harp  that  once  thio'  Tara's  halls 79 

The  heath  is  all  lonely  and  drear,  love 2-7 

The  Highland  Widow 61 

The  kiss,  dear  maid,  thy  lips  have  left 73 

The  lad  that  i  love  no  lassie  shall  know 187 

The  last  link  is  broken 107 

The  merry  mountain  pipe 2  J 

The  minstrel  boy  to  the  war  is  gone 12 

The  moon  had  burst  the  clouds  of  heaven 22(5 

The  moon  is  up!  iier  silvery  beam 273 

The  morn  was  fair,  the  skies  were  clear 51 

The  mountain  maid  from  her  bower  lias  hied 98 

Then  wake  from  thy  slumbers 285 

The  old  oak  tree  our  shade  shall  be 2-4 

The  parting  beam  of  day 285 

The  Ray  that  beams  forever 78 

There  came  to  the  beach  a  poor  exile  of  Erin 122 

There  i-  a  bloom  that  never  fades 73 

There  is  no  music  on  the  strings 61 

There  is  no  peace  about  the  house IS? 


318  INDEX   OF  TITLES 

There  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley 16G 

There's  a  health  to  the  friends  that  are  far 279 

There's  a  tear  that  flows  when  we  part 56 

There's  news  from  Moidart  cam'  yestreen 72 

There's  nought  but  care  on  every  ban' 297 

The  rose  will  cease  to  blow 230 

The  savage  loves  his  native  shore 299 

The  scene  was  more  beautiful  far  to  my  eye 259 

The  snow-white  plume  her  bonnet  bore 64 

The  soldier,  tired  of  war's  alarms 166 

The  spring  time  of  year  is  coming,  coming 287 

The  sun  has  gane  down  o'er  the  lofty  Benlomond. .  134 

The  sun  sets  at  night,  and  the  stars  shun 218 

The  tear  fell  gently  from  her  eye 272 

The  toast  be  dear  woman 75 

The  topsails  shiver  in  the  wind 30] 

The  trumpet  mav  summon  thy  soldier  away 82 

The  Voice  of  Her  1  Love 50 

The  war  that  for  a  spa<*e  did  fail 300 

The  wealthy  fool,  with  gold  in  store 45 

The  winds  whistle  cold 275 

They  come  through  the.  wild  wood 293 

They  told  me  not  to  love  him 256 

The  young  May  moon  is  beaming,  love 188 

They  say  my  heart  is  not  sincere 252 

They  say,  that  in  the  bowers 49 

Thine  am  I,  my  faithful  fair 172 

This  bleak  and  chilly  morning 258 

This  love— how  it  plagues  me « 209 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show » 163 

Thorn 221 

Thou  art  gone  awa,  thou'rt  gone  awa , . . .     99 

Though  dimpled  cheeks  may  give  the  light 107 

Thouah  some  have  a  notion  at  all  times  to 175 

'Tis  but  Fancy's  Sketch 262 

'Tis  evening,  and  the  sun's  last  gleam 266 

'Tis  midnight,  and  sweet  melodies 296 

'Tis  night — where  strays  my  muleteer 222 

'Tis  said  that  absence  conquers  love 68 

Toll  not  the  bell  of  death  for  me 81 

Tom  Bowling « . ,.     .......  165 


ED  1  DOT    LINES.  319 

Tom  Starboard  w as  a  lover  true 163 

Too  Many  1  2 

Fo  sigh,  yet  feel  no  pain »,4 

Troubadour 80 

Tru"  Yankee  Sailor 155 

'Twus  at  night,  when  the  bell  had  toll'd  twelve 268 

Twaa  midnight  dark 53 

Twaa  on  a  simmer's  afternoon 248 

Twaa  one  morn,  when  the  wind  from  the 142 

'Twas  on  the  morn  of  sweet  May  day 277 

vTwis  vou,  sir,  'twas  you,  sjr 244 

Twilight  Dewa 331 

Twilight  Hour 2^3 

Twilight's  Hour 256 

Tyrolese  Song  of  Liberty 241 

Upon  the  bill  he  turned,  to  take  a  last 110 

Uprouse  ye,  then,  my  Merry  Men 192 

Vale  Crucis. — Vale  of  the  cross 290 

Vesper  Hymn 279 

Wake,  dearest,  wake !  and  again  united 124 

Wake  !  lady,  wake  !  the  midnight  moon 227 

Wake!  maiden,  wake!  the  moon 92 

Wandering  Willie 208 

Watchman 124 

Waters  of  Elle,  thy  limpid  streams 116 

Way-worn  Traveller 162 

We  are  born  ;  we  laugh  ;  we  weep 133 

Weber's  Last  Thoughts .'.  244 

Welcome  me  Home 217 

Welcome,  mother  !  now  I  greet  thee 243 

Welcome  of  Royal  Charlie 128 

We  met !  'twas  in  a  crowd,  and  I  thought 88 

We  never  breathe  his  name 232 

We're  a'  noddin,  ui<i.  nid,  noddin 2:!7 

Wert  thou  like  me,  in  life's  low  vale 252 

Whate'er  my  fate,  where'er  1  roam 92 

What  is  it  that  drives  the  red  rose  from 218 

What's  an  Old  Bachelor  Like 95 

When  a  boy,  Harry  Bluff  left  his  friends 155 

When  absent  from  her,  my  soul  holds  most 193 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou 38 

When  life  looks  lone  and  dreary 137 

When  'midst  the  gay  1  meet 16 


320  INDEX. 

When  morning's  light  is  gently  breaking., 167 

When  morn's  ruddy  blushes  illumine  the  sky 198 

When  should  lovers  breathe  their  vows 225 

When  sorrow  clouds  thy  dream  of  mirth 57 

When  the  Balaika  is  heard  o'er  the  sea 57 

When  the  evening  star  is  peeping 228 

When  the  merry  fife  and  drum 173 

When  the  rose-bud  of  summer 45 

When  the  sheep  are  in  the  fauld,  and  the  kye 253 

When  through  life  unblest  we  rove 176 

When  thy  bosom  heaves  the  sigh 116 

When  twilight  dews  are  falling  fast 131 

When  William  Tell  was  doomed  to  die 49 

When  you  took  lodgings  in  my  neat 228 

Where  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid 243 

Where  roses  wild  were  blowing 151 

Where's  the  snow,  the  summer  snow 251 

Whether  sailor  or  not,  for  a  moment  avast 170 

While  the  hunter  o'er  the  mountain 102 

Whilst  with  village  maids  I  stray 146 

Whither,  I  pray 303 

William  Tell 49 

Will  Watch 142 

Will  you  not  bless,  with  one  sentence,  a  lover  ....  46 

Wine  Cellar 261 

With  helmet  on  his  brow,  and  sabre  on 158 

Woman's  Worth 224 

Woodbi  n  e  Bower 304 

Wreath  the  bowl 36 

Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 8 

Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon 170 

Yes,  I  will  leave  my  father's  halls 100 

Yes  !  I  will  leave  the  festive  scene 87 

Ye  sons  of  Freedom,  wake  to  glory 102 

Young  Jamie  is  a  bonny  lad 281 

Young  Love  flew  to  the  Paphian  bower 187 

Young  Love  found  a  dial  once  in  a  dark  shade  ....     27 

Young  Susan  had  lovers  so  many  that  she 235 

Your  lot  is  far  above  mo 242 


THE  END 


